


Kiss With A Fist

by LWTIS



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Childhood Friends, Enemies To Lovers Through Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, South Park: The Stick of Truth, a romantic comedy in a fantasy political guise if we're being honest, the author's kink is communication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: Everyone - from small children to noble knights - knows that King Kyle and Queen Kenny loathe each other. Allies in trade but bitter rivals in all else, their bickering is the talk of the town every Midsummer Festival. But by a cruel twist of faith and a common enemy, they are forced to play into the most popular rumour of them all - that all their arguments are just a cover-up for repressed feelings and boiling sexual tension.





	1. A Recurring Dilemma

“What a _rude, obnoxious, self absorbed piece of_ \- “

The lacquered doors screech across polished marble as they’re swung open, drowning out the rest of the sentence. The sound of rose gold heels echo down the corridor, each precise with righteous rage as the Queen Regnant of Kupa Keep hurries along, fists clenched and eyes spelling _murder_. Behind her, wringing gloved hands and wearing a nervous expression, her faithful paladin follows.  

“Do me a favour and make a note in our records, Butters.” she requests suddenly. Her hands sweep through the air with exaggerated fanfare. “It is the Twenty-second Midsummer Festival, and it only took _three hours_ and _one meal_ for the King of the Drow Elves to  _infuriate_ me.”

Butters’ throat bobs with an uneasy swallow, pearly teeth worrying his lower lip. “Gosh - I'm sure he didn't mean to do so, my lady.”

Kenny’s snort is loud and decidedly un-ladylike. “Oh really? Which part? The one where he implied I was ignorant and flippant with power? Or the one where he declared me arrogant and ignorant?”

Her question leaves the paladin masking a wince. Much to his apparent distress, he has nothing to counter Kenny’s words with - he too had been there to witness the exchange. The memory of the silence plaguing the dining hall after his outburst prompts her to dig all ten nails into her palms.  
The flames of the ceremonial candles flicker as they march past them, making their shadows dance on the walls. Once rounding the corner and approaching the ballroom doors, Butters clears his throat.

“My lady - “ he begins, tone cautious. “Kenny, I know you’re upset but - “

A bark of laughter escapes painted lips, eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m not upset.”

‘Upset’ was reserved for hurtful jabs, unpleasant rumours, or for younger siblings who ate your much-anticipated desserts.    
This? This was _fury_.

For the citizens of Zaron - from the dark woods of Barbarian territory to the sprawling towers of the Elven Kingdom - the Midsummer Festival was the highlight of every summer. Held when the days were the longest and the trees were bursting with fruit, it was the jewel of the ball season. For the locals, it boasted a week of festivities - streets filled with bright lights and attractions from all over the land, air thick with the scent of firecrackers and roasting delicacies. For the nobles, it promised a string of spectacular balls and soirees in the castle of the hosting Kingdom. And without a doubt, the most anticipated moment was always the host’s announcements regarding the Autumn Games.

The Games were as old as the Kingdoms themselves - a magnificent tournament of ten tasks, each more challenging than the last. Dozens of brave souls clashed together, over and over again until only one remained - the winner of a small fortune and a promotion. The victor was granted rank of a very special kind of knight, with the privilege to offer their talents directly to the Royal Family.   
Sadly, the rules too were scripted several millennia ago, rigid and restrictive. The participation carried a heavy entry fee, and every contestant was responsible for their own gear and equipment. As each task demanded a different skill and a different weapon, it all added up to a significant investment. On top of it all, only men were allowed to compete - a rule that was enforced with annoying thoroughness.   
Although the line of victors-turned-knights was proud and their achievements noteworthy, the bitterness surrounding the tournament had only grown with the years. Everyone Kenny had ever consulted had a mournful story, a regret - a champion that had the talent but not the fortune, a challenger with the drive but the wrong biology.

Trying to change rules made thousands of years ago, as she found out, had been nigh impossible.  
So she didn’t try.  
After months of research, painful arguments, teeth-grinding compromise and superfluous tasks that stretched late into the night, a brand new tournament was born. Identical in name and structure, the Games held in the Human Kingdom were now available to anyone of age who wished to try their luck. Furthermore, for candidates lacking funds but worthy in skill and spirit, the Kingdom will provide an opportunity to earn their entry fee. Tutors will also be available to those who couldn’t afford to hire ones privately - scholars and teachers hand-picked by the Queen herself.

Underneath ivory silk and gold jewellery, Kenny’s heart had been racing all through her announcement. Body wrecked with both excitement and nerves, she could barely keep her hands from shaking. The second between her closing words and the thunderous applause had been as torturous as the relief following was sweet.             
Up until the moment King Kyle had opened his mouth and made his displeasure _known_.  
He hadn’t minced his words - Kenny truly had been spoiled for choice as far as accusations went. Arrogance, flippancy, ignorance, disrespect towards tradition -   
Tradition, tradition, tradition. For a young man who shared her age, King Kyle sure embraced the dusty, archaic beliefs of an age long gone. Like a captain clinging onto the wreck of a sinking ship, he too clung to the olden ways with astounding stubbornness. Kenny could appreciate the dedication - but not when it stood in the way of sorely-needed progress. Unlike the shrill old men in her council, however, the Elf King’s words were doused in fire. His foolish claims sharpened into a call for arms - challenging her logic, her decision, her _competence_. Unlike the words of the shrill old men, the glare from his narrowed eyes - as bright and hard as emeralds - tore through her good graces and left her _fuming_.    
It had only been due to the restraint - drilled bone-deep over the years - and her respect for their cook that stopped Kenny from chucking a bread roll in his direction.  

Behind the door, the bell rings - once, twice - signalling the start of the soiree.

The snap back to reality is jarring, stealing her vision for a precious moment - and then a measured breath escapes her, voice simmering down to calm and regal tones. With some effort, Kenny’s shoulders roll back, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt. A gentle tug at her braids announces Butters’ proximity, the paladin’s fingers quickly tucking stray locks back into place.     

“Please go and check to see if Wendy has had any problems with the this afternoon's guests.” she says once he’s done, sending a small smile over her shoulder. “I’ll see you back in the ballroom before dessert is served.”

She takes a deep breath once his footsteps have faded, eyes fluttering shut - one, two three. Tips of fingers brush under her eyes, chasing away stray smudges. A quick touch to her crown to ensure proper placement. A regal smile, practically muscle memory.    

The doors open, and a Queen steps through, without a single trace of Kenny left on show.

\---

Five hours later, the cool sheets of her bed are a bliss to sink into.

With a groan that’s borderline pornographic, Kenny wriggles further under the plush blanket, aching feet popped up on a pile of pillows. As the scent of lavender invades her senses and the tension in her muscles finally starts to melt, she makes a note to treat her chambermaids to something lovely at the end of the week.

Despite the rocky start, the day had concluded on a high note. Her musicians had been tireless and impeccable in their performance, the zest of the lemon cakes served for dessert still tart and perfect on her tongue. And at every step through the ballroom, the excitement in the air had been palpable. Be it a compliment to her face or snatches of conversations caught in passing, most people seemed pleased with her announcement. Of course, the silence of certain guests spoke volumes. It was only the first day of the week, after all, and Kenny foresaw a lot of uncomfortable questions in the coming days - posed under the shades of her gardens, as pointed and sharp as an assassin’s knife. But victories should be celebrated, and she has damn well earned an evening to indulge in all the things that went _right_. She had remembered every important name, nothing had caught on fire, no one’s jewellery had been stolen and nobody’s marriage had ended amidst a screaming match and broken china.  
And the castle, if she says so herself, looked _incredible_. Every stone floor gleamed, every metallic surface glittered. The silks of the tablecloths were spotless, contrasting beautifully against the deep purples of the curtains. Kenny’s personal favourite was the walls of the dining hall - draped in the banners of the visiting kingdoms, gorgeous in colour and stunning in intricacy. With patient fingers, the tailors had woven a metallic thread in the embroidery - so that with every flicker of the torches, the animals of the family crests came to life.     
By the nature of their dramatic choices in symbols and affinity for red, the Elven banners always claimed the gaze of whomever entered the room. Crimson akin to wine, with a hint of freshly spilled blood - embraced by the head of a majestic stag, sewn in glittering gold thread.

Plush red velvet. Red robes, red hair, spilling, untamed, akin to wildfire.     
Red, red, red.  
Unbidden, her thoughts - for the dozenth time - flit back to the lunchtime confrontation.

Dwelling is an unfruitful endeavour, especially for things that cannot be changed. Only...  
Kenny knows for a fact that the King of the Drow Elves does not harbour resentment towards women, nor does he waste energy on keeping them barred from positions of power. His own general is a fierce lady, and she is well aware that throughout history, there had been just as many Elven Queens as there had been Kings. Kyle’s right-hand-man, furthermore, is a human from a simple merchant family - now bearing the title of a knight and the King’s closest friend. Not to mention that Prince Ike, with his dark hair and icy eyes, was royalty only by decree and binding paperwork. Yet his legitimacy to the Throne and his place in the family was never questioned, the King’s affection for him blindingly obvious.     
All of which made the intensity of his reaction earlier all the more baffling.

Well. Baffling is perhaps the wrong term to use. Kenny couldn’t claim to be particularly surprised by his rebuttal - the decision, after all, had come from her. Kyle’s disapproval of her choices had become predictable at this point - a constant, almost. She has little doubt that if any other ruler had made the announcement about the Games, Kyle would have joined the applauding crowd without a word.  
Never mind that her kingdom is thriving. Never mind that she is the first Queen Regnant of the Human Kingdom in the past two centuries that held reign for more than a year. Never mind that after much struggle, her capitol was on the verge of eradicating the sicknesses that plagued the city slums. Never mind that just last week, three women from non-noble backgrounds had gained seats on her council. _Never mind._     

The sound of teeth grinding together snaps Kenny out of her reverie. A sharp ache tears along her back, shoulders tense once more.  
She needs a distraction before the hard work of all the lavender oil goes completely to waste. With an arch of her spine, Kenny twists her body, reaching to tug her pillow closer. The brand-new volume of the Kingdom’s favourite series peeks out from underneath, gilded spine glinting in the enchanted fire.

 _Kingdom Come._ A series first published when Kenny was still a teenager. Penned by an elven (if the rumours were to be ignored) author, it followed the tales of a masked peacekeeper who travelled across the world, solving crimes and delivering justice. His ever-present companion was a scholar, whip-smart and sharp-tongued. Skilled in information gathering and keeping the peacekeeper on his toes, he was as integral to every plot as the sword-wielding hero himself.  
With the wonderful chemistry between the leads, the clever mysteries and visceral passion for retribution, it’s small wonder the books became as popular as they did. The stories soon made their ways across the borders, translated and re-told by dozens of dedicated fans. After the release of a new volume, dozens would gather in taverns frequented by elven travellers, eager to hear their re-telling. By the time the books were published in Common, the Kingdom had already fallen in love.

Even at the seventh volume, the momentum was still strong. The action was heart-pounding, the mystery intriguing, the villain more creative than ever. The previous night, the end of the chapter left the peacekeeper dangling out of a window, clutching his knife in one hand and the hand of his companion in the other.    
And yet...and yet.  
The focus in this edition has shifted towards the hero’s companion, gently nudging his emotions and contemplations into the spotlight. After spending several volumes inside the head of the peacekeeper - serious, withdrawn but hiding a passionate heart - the change in perspective was intriguing. But as interesting and gripping the narrative was, Kenny couldn’t quite ignore the bitter taste the chapters left in her mouth. Every twist and character development reminded her of memories better left undisturbed, of excited debates lost to the past.

The companion had, after all, always been _his_ favourite damn character.

 A sharp knock cuts through the silence, loud and urgent. It doesn’t relent until she tumbles out of bed, unlocking the door to reveal the face of her paladin.  

“General Testaburger requests your immediate presence, your Majesty.” Butters says in a rush. The rattle in his voice echoes his distressed expression. “She says that we have a problem.”    

\---

 

 

AN:

  

Happy New Year! I hope everyone is well, and had a chance to rest up along the way!

Sooooo you guys know [Kyle's story in the second chapter of Sous Le Ciel De Paris?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535171/chapters/39450880) Well - here it is! This is a fic that's been in the making since August, and I'm so excited to be finally sharing it. I wanted to dabble in a multi-chapter SOT story for a while, and then I saw a post about 'Enemies to Lovers Through Fake Dating' and I was lost. I really hope you guys enjoy it!

Title is from [Florence+The Machine's excellent song of the same name.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SmxVCM39j4) Also, for anyone interested, my playlist for this fic can be [found here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Hn9E4ycEOG01g3TEyg2w8) (I'm updating it along the way). 

Also, with each chapter, I'd like to recommend a fic, set in SOT/fantasy universe :D  

To start us off is the first SOT K2 fic I read when I joined the fandom - [Lionheart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7148342/chapters/16230638) by [indirectkissesiniceland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indirectkissesiniceland).  
An author who needs no introduction, I first read her stunning superhero/high school AU works before devouring this fic. It is a beautifully constructed AU where Princess Kenny is days from coming of age, and inheriting the Kingdom from the Grand Wizard. The happy anticipation is soured somewhat when she realises that he intends to marry her off before that. Against Cartman's intentions, she meets the young King of Elves and the two form an immediate, electric connection, intent on spending as much time together before the crowning ceremony. Along the way, alliances are formed and secrets are unravelled, all leading up to one of the most cathartic conclusions I've had the pleasure to read.   
It's a wonderful mixture of humour, anticipation and romance. Every character that makes in appearance is a delight - Craig, Clyde and Wendy are all fantastic as the Princess' guards and close friends, and Paladin Butters is a delight. My personal favourite is probably Barbarian King Tweek, whose little side-plot with stoic Feldspar is as adorable as it is heart-wrenching. Definitely worth a read!

Any thoughts are super appreciated <3 If you're on Tumblr, [hit me up!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)  


	2. A Certain Angle of Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which traditions are mourned, unorthodox deals are made in the middle of the night, and the Queen scandalises a couple of maids.

“Can you believe the  _nerve_ of her? That prideful, stubborn, _arrogant_ \- “

The door slams shut with timed precision,  making the no-doubt priceless paintings rattle dangerously on the wall. In a flutter of embroidered cloaks and broad strides, The King of the Drown Elves stomps towards his guest quarters, brows tight and expression thunderous. Over the sound of furious heartbeats, Kyle hears the heavy steps of his guard catching up with his own.  

“Maybe not so loud, my lord.” Stan says, voice low with tired resignation. “We are still her guests. In _her_ castle.”

The King’s responding snort is loud, tone scathing. “It’s nothing I would not say to her face. _Again_.”

“I’m aware, my lord.” comes Sir Marshwalker’s dry reply. “I was there.”

He had been - as had the rest of Zaron’s nobility. Yet nobody spoke out after the Queen’s announcement. Even after making the first move, not one person had backed up his protest. Only had silence reigned in the dining hall, excruciating and damning. The memory leaves him swallowing a growl, frustration surging through his body with renewed vigour.   

“Who does she think she is? Does she think she can just snap her fingers -

“And the world will just drop to their knees?” Stan interjects smoothly. Without breaking their pace, he nudges his King towards the correct corridor.   

“Complete and _utter_ \- “

“Disregard to tradition and all that is good and worthwhile?”   

Polished leather scuffs against stone as Kyle’s steps skid to a halt, whirling around to face his guard in a flurry of crimson velvet. “Are you _mocking_ me?”

“I’m simply repeating your own words, your Majesty.” his guard has the nerve to say. Save for the wicked little glimmer in his eyes, his expression is perfectly composed. “If it’s _mocking_ to quote you, then - “

“Oh, _fuck off_ , Stan.”

-

Despite the many, _many_ perfectly reasonable complaints an elf could have about the Human Kingdom - the disgustingly cold weather, their insistence of building everything from _stone,_ the constant overcooking of their vegetables - the hospitality of Kupa Keep was always impeccable. The sheets were soft and the fireplaces well-stocked, kept roaring by quiet servants throughout the day. The meals were plentiful and frequent, the bards’ songs making them all sweeter still. Mercifully, their host remembered that unlike the rest of the races present, elves couldn’t survive on game meat and bread alone. The memory of the year spent celebrating the Festival in the Dwarven Kingdom, with their apparent repulsion towards fresh produce, still makes Kyle shudder in despair.  
Sadly, no amount of lavish cakes and lavender-scented pillows could ease his frustrations. Over the hours, the boiling anger that had simmered down, morphing into intense irritation.  

The legacy of the Games was as old as the Kingdoms’ themselves, and irreversibly intertwined with the history of the royal families. He can still remember their proud stance besides the throne, the sharp gleam of their armour. He remembers his Grandfather’s stories about his own faithful victor-turned-knight, whose quick thinking and dedication saved his King’s life on multiple occasions. He remembers the knight’s eyes - steely and unforgiving, his dedication unwavering until a poisoned arrow claimed his life almost fifteen years later.  
The brave souls who entered the tournament weren’t simply playing for spoils or glory. The opportunity granted to the winner was a privilege - but one that demanded absolute dedication, often until the end of the victor’s life. It was a commitment few could afford. As harsh as the rules were, they were crafted with this in mind - the first hurdle to prove one’s dedication. 

All things her Highness Queen Kenny should be well aware of - if she could be _bothered_ to exert just a little time to make herself familiar with customs embraced and practiced by the _entire world_. But of course, she is clearly _so above_ little things like history and ancestry. If something couldn’t be changed, couldn’t be fixed to suit her vision, then she had little problem with casting it to the wayside. Be it a crumbling ruin of a thousand-year-old temple, or a tournament as old as the Kingdom itself - torn down and left to fade into obscurity with a day’s work. To someone whose family worked hard to preserve the customs of their ancestors and shared fragments of heritage like precious jewels, it’s mortifying at the least and completely disrespectful at the worst.

What makes it _sting_ , however, is that would it be anyone else - were it Kyle in her shoes, acting on whim and desire alone -  the other nobles would tear into him without hesitation. Hell, his own _council_  would, enraged and hungry for _blood_. But because it was Queen McCormick - shameless in her ambition and too-generous with her praise - she got away with it every single time. And oh, she knows this _so well_ , if the smugness practically rolling off her during the announcement was anything to go by. It lurked in the curve of her smile, the borderline nonchalance of her pose. In addition to the ivory silk and finely-embroidered charcoal satin, there were feathers sprouting from the shoulders of her dress - long, delicate and dipped in gold. Like some terrible mockery of the angels painted on the walls of human temples.

And despite her decision to strip the Games of its heritage and cheapen it to a common tussle for riches, the room responded with cheers and thunderous applause.  
Because what was the value of convention in the face of someone so damn _charming?_  

-

The knocking comes when he’s finally on the brink of sleep.  
Grumbling under his breath, Kyle throws his dressing gown on before heading for the door. Stan greets him on the other side, already dressed and mouth set in a grim line.

“The stable boy has some concerns regarding our horses, Your Majesty.” he says, voice appropriately nonchalant. His eyes, however, tell a different story. “We should set them aside as soon as possible.”  

Swallowing his questions, Kyle nods, pulling back long enough to slip his boots on. When one is so far away from home, it’s safer to assume all walls have eyes and ears.

They’re crossing through the courtyard when a sigh escapes Stan, gaze darting around to ensure their privacy.

“I got a summon from the General.” he says, brows furrowing. “She says there’s an urgent matter that needs addressing.”

Kyle tugs at the lapels of his robe, expression as dubious as his tone. “Between the hours of dusk and dawn?”

“She sounded serious.”      

An alarming sign as any. “Bebe?”

“I’ve sent word. She’s standing by.”

With a nod, Kyle allows the conversation to drop. He follows his knight into the shadows, through a dozen arches and down a winding staircase. Their steps echo down the narrow corridor, hollow and endless. A single flickering torch guides them towards a gleaming oak door - one that creaks open after three rapid knocks.    

The gleam of rose-quartz armour and a flicker of black hair is the first thing that catches his eye. The amethyst-tinted sword, sheath bearing a line of elegant runes, is the second. Kyle has only met General Wendy Testaburger in the flesh a few times, but what he knows of her achievements could entertain a crowd for a whole evening. Risen from the ranks of soldier to warrior in just a few years, she was responsible in no small part for the Queen’ victory over the Grand Wizard. Alongside her skills with the blade, Wendy was also famed for her network of agents, spread far and wide over Zaron. Whether it was a much-guarded recipe, a secret lovechild or whispers of an ambush, the General always had a little bird in vicinity - ears sharp and voices swift.

The former shieldmaiden doesn’t turn to greet them immediately, deep in conversation with a familiar figure. Leaning close as to not miss a word, Paladin Butters’ distress grows further with every harried sentence. From the corner of his vision, Kyle sees Stan swallow, already fidgeting. Eyes rolling towards the ceiling, he sends a wish to whatever deity listening that the news is dire enough to hold his knight’s attention.

“We are in pretty company tonight.” he murmurs, voice low enough for only his friend to hear. “Both the General, _and_ the Paladin. Should we fetch you a bucket first?”

The muscle under Stan’s eye twitches, complexion already a little green. “Up yours.”

With monumental effort, the King holds back a snigger. His attention shifts towards the others - just in time to spot the subject of his thoughts and the source of his current misery.

It is both a little jarring and somewhat comforting to see his own confusion reflected on the Queen’s face. Skin uncharacteristically bare of any make-up, she is bundled in a thick orange shawl, hair tumbling over her shoulders in messy waves. As Kyle’s steps echo across the room, their eyes meet.  
Within a second, Kenny’s lips tug into a smirk, head dipping in an exaggerated bow towards him. Within a second, Kyle’s pulse rockets sky-high once more.  
As if sensing the sudden tension, Wendy motions everyone to join her at the table, skilfully positioning herself between the two rulers in the process.

“Thank you for coming, your Majesties.” she says. Despite her quiet, respectful disposition, Kyle is reminded of his old trainer and finds himself straightening his spine. “I do apologise for the hour.”

“At ease, General.” Kenny replies. Her smirk is long-gone, replaced with an expression much more sombre. “What happened?”

“One of my soldiers met a rather disturbing individual during the festival.” Wendy’s lips twist in distaste. “A cloaked man was roaming the square, spouting strange promises and distributing...these.” Four heads dip forwards in unison, all gazes fixed on Wendy’s deft fingers as she spreads a dozen crumpled flyers across the table. “Are your Majesties aware of a certain…’Army of Darkness’?”

Kyle cannot keep his snort from slipping free. Opposite him, Kenny’s shoulders tremble underneath her shawl.  

“Those guys that tried to recruit _our allies,_ the Barbarians, into terrorising the human villages along their border, aren’t they?” she asks, voice trembling with the effort to suppress her laugh. “The ones who sound like villains from a cheap play? I remember you saying they were not worth the time and coin.”

“I did.” her General replies, not sharing their amusement. “But this time, their recruiters claim that they have new means to fulfil their promises - a certain legendary item.”  

True to her words, the flyers are drenched in dark purple ink, curled around an illustration of an artefact Kyle has only ever heard described in stories. The words underneath are equally magical and seductive to match, promising power and victory to all brave new recruits. It’s...all rather ridiculous.  

“And you think one mad man in the capitol is enough to warrant concern?” Kyle asks, unable to hold his scepticism at bay.   

“It may only be one man in the square - but there was three in the market and four scattered across the main street.” Chestnut eyes flash right before they narrow, gloved hands gripping the edge of the table. “And those are just with flyers - there’s no counting how many there are in the taverns and the inns, spreading the news by over drinks.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air, settling in Kyle’s stomach like a sackful of rocks. There really was no shortage of travellers during the Midsummer Festival. Truly, it was the perfect opportunity to have your voice heard by hundreds before disappearing into the crowd without a trace.

“Isolated incidents, reeking of incompetence, I can ignore. But claims of Dark Magic, promises of ‘reclaiming what you’re owed’, of ‘justice that laws cannot deliver’...“ A sigh rushes out of Wendy, making the flyers rattle. “These aren’t the words of greedy bandits. These are words aimed at people with unreasonable grudges and deep pockets.”

Jaded noblemen, purists and extremists. All people who would happily jump on opportunities to see royalty fall, no matter how ridiculous the method might first seem. And when mad men gain enough gold and influence...

Kenny’s voice tugs him back to reality, thoughts already too-entangled in the endless whirlpool of what-ifs. “Judging by your expression, you already have a solution, Wendy.”

“I do.” A single flick sends her braid over one shoulder, lips pressed into a determined line. “With my leads and the Elven troops that accompanied General Stevens here, I’m positive we can get our hands on their leader.” She pauses, weighing her words. “The problem is that...if your Majesties suddenly start spending all your free time together, it will inevitably claim the attention of many.”

Across the table, Kenny goes suspiciously still, face akin to a marble mask. To his right, Stan sucks in a slow breath as Wendy continues.

“However...if approached from a...certain angle, we could use that to our advantage.”

It takes Kyle a few seconds to process the implication. The noise that escapes him upon realisation is not unlike a rodent being stepped on.

_“What?!_ You can’t possibly be serious!”

“My sincerest apologies, your Majesty, but - “

“It would makes sense.” the Queen interrupts. When Kyle whips his glare in her direction, her gaze is almost cool. “Surely even you aren't ignorant of how particularly popular that rumour is about the two of us.”

Fighting back a grimace, he settles for a terse nod.  
One of the more frustrating collateral of his position was the constant curiosity about his life - the way he dressed, the people he befriended, the kind of features he looked for in a lover. Every summit and festival sparked new debates and speculations, his fellow nobles eager for any new scraps of gossip. Much to his horror, the most popular rumour involved Kenny - and how their rivalry was all a front for tender _feelings_ and filthy _desires_. Even his own mother had been swept on board, questions invasive and incessant after every visit to the Human Kingdom.  

_“It'd be so nice, bubbe! You two got along so well when you were little!”  
_

They had indeed.  
Until they were both ensnared in the thorny arms of puberty, and the Princess he thought he knew disappeared behind masks and manipulation.

“I’m aware that this isn’t the most ideal situation.” Wendy says, tone cautious. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I had a sufficient alternative.”  

Slowly, Kenny drags his gaze away from Kyle, arms crossed tightly across her chest. “You are certain that you can locate and eliminate this threat before the end of the Festival, Wendy?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Then I have complete faith in your abilities. If you say this is the best and quickest way, I will do it.” There’s a pause before her eyes are on him again, previous look of indifference sharpened into knifelike focus. “Provided his Majesty thinks his skills are up to par.”

Underneath the delicate accent, the challenge is clear. It sets his blood aflame quicker than any battlecry could, fingers twitching with sparks as he draws himself to his full height.

_“Your Majesty_ will find my _skills_ are more than sufficient for _any_ task.” he practically snarls. There’s a flicker across Kenny’s eyes for just a second - a splinter in her composure, and it thrills him. _“Hardly_ a challenge.”

A clap echoes through the room - short and precise - claiming everyone’s attention.  

“Then that’s settled.“ Wendy says, cool and composed. For a moment, her lips twitch with something akin to wicked satisfaction - but he blinks, and she’s the picture of perfect professionalism once more. “Then let us talk about how to proceed.”

She turns towards her Queen, leaving Kyle with a racing heart and a creeping suspicion that he just made a decision he would soon come to regret.  

-

The regret comes exactly thirty minutes later.

“Let’s reconvene after breakfast.” Wendy eventually says, glancing towards the window. Right above the horizon, faint strokes of orange are already seeping through the inky darkness. “I think we all earned some rest.”  

Mind heavy with information overload, Kyle nods readily, jaw straining with a hidden yawn. He is about to gesture to his knight when Butters clears his throat.  

“I think the King should escort her Majesty back to her room.”

_I beg your pardon._

“The people working the kitchens and the stables will be out and about very soon. If they see the two of you returning from a private stroll at this time…”

“The castle is bound to be loud with the rumour by sunrise.” Kenny finishes the thought. Her tone prompts Kyle’s stomach to twist, heavy with something akin to dread.   

Just hours ago, he wanted nothing more than the opportunity to be left alone with the Queen - for a few moments of privacy so he could re-iterate every frustrated fact and professional opinion, without the royal court hanging onto their every word.  
Right now though - even the thought of being left alone with her makes his gut coil, tense anticipation stabbing through his body like a thousand cold needles.

He snags Stan’s arm as soon as Butters turns away, tugging him out of earshot with as much dignity as he can muster. “This was a mistake.”

Rather unhelpfully, his knight only raises an eyebrow. “It’s been thirty minutes.”

“You don’t get it. I will kill her before the week is through.”

Defying biology and physics, Stan’s eyebrows rise higher still.  “At last year’s festival, she wrestled a bear whilst still in a dress. I doubt it’d be that easy.”

“That’s _not the point!”_  

“I think it’s a good idea.” Taking advantage of Kyle’s stunned silence, Stan wriggles free from his grip. “It’s the safest and quickest way to get to the bottom of this without tipping the enemy off. It’s only six more days, and we’ll be busy.” Dark blue eyes crinkle before he casts a quick glance over Kyle’s shoulder. “Besides - you might actually get a chance to talk without an audience, and put this pointless rivalry to rest.”

-

The air is cold against his skin, the wind having grown stronger. With every breath, Kyle swears he can taste the impending thunderstorm in the back of his throat. Still, the sting is not enough to distract him from the warmth of the Queen’s skin bleeding through the thin layers between them, her presence solid and completely impossible to ignore.  
She found his tension amusing, no doubt - judging from the unnecessarily intimate way she twisted her arm around his, fingers clinging on just a little tighter than necessary. As they turn a corner, Kenny finally breaks the silence.   

“Not quite like how you imagined your first day of the Festival, is it?” She tilts her head to catch his gaze, eyelashes fluttering with the motion. The light of a dying lantern bounces off her earrings with a shimmer. Even without her heels, she almost matches him in height, their shoulders bumping together with every step. Somehow, it’s still a surprise each time.

“Not in any way.” he replies, tone dry. He shifts to avoid a puddle, inadvertently pulling her closer with the motion. “...You seem very confident in this plan.”

The Queen only hums, smile unwavering. “I’m very confident in my abilities.”  

“What _exactly_ makes you so certain that _I’m_ the liability here?” Kyle snaps, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. He doesn’t expect Kenny’s steps to falter, composed expression crinkling into one of barely-suppressed amusement.

“Kyle, you’re a terrible actor.”

He cannot hold a snort back at the irony. “Unlike you, I take that as a compliment.”

“Take it as you will, it’s not exactly an asset in this situation.” she replies, infuriatingly flippant. “Luckily for the both of us, the public will do the hard work in this case.”

Kyle doesn’t remember the walk across the castle ever being so long - or such an intense exercise in multitasking. Despite the hour and their shared exhaustion, Kenny’s remarks remain masterfully crafted - biting sentiments wrapped in silk-soft faux-courtesy. Caught between the illusion they were tasked with selling and his desire to bite back just as hard, it's all Kyle can do to keep his voice from escalating above a furious whisper. By the time the doors of the Queen’s quarters loom into view, his hands practically shake with pent-up energy, thoughts chasing each other with furious determination.   
If the Queen wants a challenge, by God she is going to get one.

As Kenny makes a move to release him, Kyle catches her hand. Fingers squeezing her wrist, he dips his body in a mocking exaggeration of a bow. “I am looking forward to savouring your embarrassment over being so _terribly_ wrong at the end of the week.”

“...I will try and withhold my judgement until then.” A spark flickers through Kenny’s eyes as she allows herself to be tugged forwards, white-hot and intense. Her tongue runs along her lower lip, slow and calculating. “But here’s the thing, _your Majesty -_ “

Faintly, he hears a muffled gasp from the end of the corridor, followed by the muted sound of impact - but then the scent of perfume invades his senses and Kenny is moving to close the distance between them, her free hand cradling the back of his neck.  
To anyone watching them - to the maids peeking around the corner - it no doubt looks like the initiation of a passionate embrace. With her face masked from view by a curtain of messy blonde hair and clever angles, only Kyle is witness to her true expression - to the smug confidence of her words, barely a whisper from lips inches away from his own.   

“You’re still so, _so_ easy to fluster.”

And just as suddenly, she’s gone - stepping back with nimble feet, shoulders hunched with manufactured bashfulness. Idly, his lungs remember the mechanics of breathing, each heartbeat a clap of thunder in his ears.   
Cornflower eyes meet his own right before Kenny steps inside her room, lingering on the flush clawing its way down his cheeks. That smile - that infuriating, smug, captivating smile - makes its appearance once more, accompanied by a _wink._ “Aptly demonstrated, your Majesty. Do sleep well.”

And with a flick of hair and the soft click of a key turning in the lock, she is gone - leaving him with a rapidfire pulse and a single, vehement sentiment in mind.

_Fuck._  

 

 

\---

AN:

Alternating POVs are fun!! Why didn't I use them before??  
Thank you very much for the lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter - as well as the  _amazing_ theories regarding  _Kingdom Come_ and on what's to come. I enjoyed reading them so much and to be honest, they all deserve fics of their own. Also, for those curious, [here is a sketch of Kenny's dress](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0e3824bc626a0b9d392d9b8a3d9bd01a/tumblr_plhwvrQIFh1qfbhqv_540.jpg) from the announcement. A lot of the writing process of this particular fic is indeed just making more and more moodboards for the outfits.   

**Fantasy Fic Rec:**  [Dawn of the Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199301/chapters/30193464) by [PaisleyWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/pseuds/PaisleyWraith)

Another lovely author who probably needs no introduction to a K2 fan, Paisley's wonderful stories have something for everyone - from aliens to superheroes, school romances to lavish fantasy. At the start of the fic, Lady McCormick hands herself over to the Elven Kingdom to ensure her sister's safe return. Although armed with plans and ready for anything, the Elves and their King - her husband-to-be - defy all expectations. As she searches for Karen, Kenny is soon drawn into events that span across three Kingdoms, uncovering dark secrets of the past and worrying prospects for the future.  
_Dawn of the Queen_ is a rollercoaster ride of emotions, wonderful character development, all framed by exceptionally crafted lore and worldbuilding. Princess Kenny is delightfully complex, hiding secrets and agendas, all whilst wrestling with emotions and revelations she didn't expect to have. King Kyle is just as great, his slowly unravelling past and true nature a joy to uncover through the chapters. The side characters all have very satisfying arcs, and the take on Barbarian Tweek and Feldspar is very unique. All in all, a wonderful read that I very much recommend. There's also lots of [beautiful, beautiful art for it](https://paisleywraith.tumblr.com/) \- lots by the talented author herself.    

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Any thoughts are super appreciated <3 If you're on Tumblr, [hit me up!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)  


	3. Hyacinths and Magnolias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Grand Wizard offers terrible advice, accusations are finally thrown, and spoilers are narrowly avoided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an argument that devolves briefly into shouting and flinging accusations. If this is something you would rather avoid, it begins at 'Kenny's hands still at that' and ends at 'Kenny walks out of the room'. Please see the end of the chapter for a summary.

“This,” Kenny declares, “is the _worst.”_

To her left, the Wizard lets out a horrifying ugly snort. “Don’t know why you’re so surprised. It’s  _Kyle.”_

The name is delivered with derision usually reserved for particularly slimy insects. To her absolute lack of surprise, it doesn’t help one bit.

“It’s  _only_  Kyle.” she corrects him with a sharp sniff. “And it’s _only_ six days. It should be impossible to make this such an _unbearable_ affair, but _somehow_ , he manages.”

“Hah! The only thing he’s talented at.”

With a sigh, the Queen slumps over the balcony, more dramatic than strictly necessary. Beneath her feet, the muffled sound of the bell signals the changing of guards and the beginning of the second shift.

Kenny first crossed paths with Eric Cartman almost two decades ago. They were both only as tall as their mothers’ knees, lost in their delight over the annual fair. He had snatched her toffee apple before she could even take a bite, claiming that slow, poor people had no rights to snacks. In his haste to escape, he promptly tripped over his own shoelaces and tumbled head-first into the river. It was a wonderful afternoon, a fond memory she still holds close to her heart.  
The events of their next meeting concluded on opposing ends of a battlefield - Kenny clutching her rightful claims for _her_ kingdom, and Cartman brandishing his self-appointed title of All-Powerful Grand Wizard with impressive conviction.    
Throughout the centuries, no history book, nor record recounting royal lineage bore mention of the Cartman family. However, in the upheaval that tends to follow the massacre of an entire royal family, opportunists blossom. Through pure ambition, persistence and shocking lack of remorse, Eric wormed his way up to the very top - wielding a honeyed tongue and magical prowess that gave even the biggest sceptics pause.

Kyle might vehemently disagree, but to Kenny, the Grand Wizard’s legacy was the true lesson in just how far charisma got you. The nobility might preach how essential titles and impeccable education were - but given enough charm and whispers of exactly what they wanted to hear, even the stubbornest lord would happily allow themselves to be conquered.  
She knew that the nature of her victory was still debated in certain circles - curious minds eager to pinpoint what exactly allowed her to defeat a powerful wizard controlling the human army. Some claim it was her alliances, the support of the Elven Kingdom in particular. Others hold the Barbarians responsible, with their ghost-like presence and unfaltering aims. Many believe it was General Testaburger’s contributions that really turned the tides in Kenny’s favour. A select few are convinced that the Grand Wizard never stood a chance against one borne of royal blood - a  _usurper_ against a _true heir_.  
The last speculation never failed to send the Queen’s eyes rolling. A steaming pile of horse shit, that was - spoken smugly by those who were never in the battlefield’s vicinity. Cartman had been a more-than-worthy opponent - an excellent, ruthless player of the game. Kenny simply had to get better.  
She always declined the invitation to join any discussion, citing that rather than dissecting the past, she would rather look towards the future. The truth was, her memories of those months were mercifully hazy, with only cruelly specific moments she would much rather forget. Having to tie up all loose ends from that whole affair - including deciding the Grand Wizard’s fate - had been enough of a hassle on its own.

Her final judgement regarding Cartman had been - and continues to be - another point of contention between herself and the Elf King. Kyle didn’t take the sentence of lifetime imprisonment well, claiming that individuals with Cartman’s sins and capabilities were too dangerous to be kept alive. Whilst Kenny harboured no sympathy for her old opponent, her verdict had come from a place of pragmatism. The Grand Wizard had resided in the castle for almost two years before his defeat. The amount of modifications and hidden traps he left in his wake was impossible to predict. The thought of finding some hidden contraption in the cellars, and having no answers without channelling Cartman’s spirit didn’t sit well with her.

And besides - subduing the greedy Wizard turned out to be an easier task than anticipated. He soon found a home for himself in the prison guarding the Kingdom’s worst, merrily terrorising the murderers and conmen locked inside with him. Kenny often mused that this way, Cartman was much happier than he would have been as a King - weighed down by pesky things like responsibilities and laws about _cultural sensitivity_ and _ethics_. But give him a kingdom within the walls of a tower, and he thrived with the sadistic glee of a self-made tyrant.  
And on top of that, even with his powers dampened and practically nonexistent, Cartman was plenty useful still. Kenny made a habit of seeking out Butters when she needed a sympathetic ear and guidance towards solutions. She sought out Cartman when she needed a distraction, a partner in vindictive pettiness. There still remained a small part of her that found his crass jokes hilarious - that revelled in the hilarity of his deprivation and simple, hedonistic desires.

Perhaps it was a naive thought, but there was a certain amount of comfort in Cartman’s brand of antagonism. There was no deeper meaning to his ill intents - he hadn’t wanted to kill her because of her heritage, her legacy or her political beliefs. Strictly speaking, he had nothing against her as a person at all. Grand Wizard Cartman had simply wished her harm because she stood between him and the throne. These days, that kind of clean, honest antagonism was rare.

Kenny re-focuses her attention back on Cartman just in time to hear him launch into his favourite rant about the _gross gaudiness_ of the Elf King’s fashion choices and the _gayness_ of it all.  
It is ironic, she thinks for the dozenth time, hiding her grimace in her sleeve. Despite the burning hatred that Cartman and Kyle shared against each other, their advices usually rang very similar. Neither of them believed in letting dangerous enemies live, and whatever the circumstances, they both charged towards any challenge without hesitation. One day, she will share her observations on these similarities with one of them - just to enjoy the cataclysmic fallout.

“...but yeah, I don’t know what the fuck you were on to think that pretending to _want to kiss that pointy eared asshole_ wasn’t the stupidest - “

Without turning to direct her sour glance his way, the Queen swings her foot to the side. The sharp sound of impact and the yelp of pain that follows is extremely therapeutic.  

\---

Twenty four hours ago, she had fallen asleep with aching feet and euphoric sense of _victory._ With a well-timed words, she had left the Elf King gaping outside her chambers, flustered as a nun in an orgy. Fulfilling this plan was going to be easy - it was going to be _fun._    
Twenty four hours later, all she wants to do is reach back in time and strangle her past self.

Breakfast had started off promisingly enough. As soon as Kenny made her appearance, she could feel every single eye on her - wide, shocked, _greedy._ Furious whispers graced her every step, only amplifying when Kyle and Stan joined their table a few minutes later.  
The words of scandalised maids _did_ indeed travel fast.

“You know what I find _fascinating,_ Butters?” she asks as they make their way towards Wendy’s quarters, the sweet aftertaste of porridge still lingering on her tongue. Steps perfectly in tandem with hers, her paladin turns his head with a smile.

“What would that be, my lady?”

“How _quickly_ the rumours about myself and his Majesty seem to spread.” A long manicured nail taps against her lips, almost as pointed as her gaze. “Not just now - it seems like every time we exchange even a few sentences in _private_ , the castle is loud with it only hours later. As if someone close to me - and to the King - had sharp ears and looser lips.”  

Big blue eyes blink three times, wide and perfectly innocent. “Gods - I guess it’s true what they say, my lady. All those walls really _do_ have ears.”

“How true.” Kenny replies. Slowly, she blinks away the image in her mind’s eye - of Butters and Sir Marshwalker, huddled together in the corner, all gleeful grins and furious whispers. Carefully, she swallows the words about the memory she holds of a conversation overhead, half hidden behind a door whilst Stan declared her the day’s winner in their unofficial contest of best insults.

_“Look,”_ he had said, trying his damnedest to sound serious, _“I still think ‘fuck you and the gilded elk you rode in on’ is hysterical.”_

A confession to be shared on another day.  
And then she had stepped through the door, apparently annoyingly late in her arrival, if the King’s scowl was anything to go by - and it had been all downhill from there.

Kenny had attended war councils held mid-winter in courtyards, the howling winds tearing at her hair and numbing her toes. She had sat through tax meetings that stretched far into the night, the councilman’s voice a certified cure for insomnia. She had frequented banquets hosted by a King whose understanding of the world was painfully outdated, and found the very existence of an unmarried Queen offensive. And yet, nothing had been _quite_ as painful and infuriating as a mere twenty four hours at King Kyle’s side, putting the details of their generals’ plans in motion.  
Between the hours of dawn and noon, the redhead had somehow lost all sense of fluster. Taking Kenny’s challenge to heart, he remained stone-faced and perpetually unimpressed throughout the proceedings, critiques pointed and arguments sharper. Even when they stood in agreement, his expression said plenty.     
On the day of her coronation. the moment the cold metal of the crown pressed against her forehead, Kenny promised herself to never to take unreasonable judgement to heart. And yet, every comment, every frown, every barely-suppressed groan chipped away at her composure, worming its way under her skin. For brief moments, her words felt shallow and uninformed, her experience shaky and inadequate - even to her own ears.    
When the moon finally rises and the soiree dwindles down, Kenny all but collapses into her bed, feeling drained and so very, _very_ old.

-

It’s funny how things change over the years.  
It’s funny how _she_ changed - from a child in hiding to a prince - then to a princess, and finally, a Queen. Transformed stumbling steps and shaky knees into confident strides and dazzling smiles. Observed, researched, hoarded information like others hoarded jewels, crafting them into whatever tools suited her best - an olive branch of diplomacy, a shield, a razor-sharp arrow.  
She once thought that if anyone, Kyle would be able to understand. Once, the thought of them both growing up to be rulers delighted her - a bond like no other, sharing a position a very few could truly relate to. But slowly, as the summers morphed into bitter winters, the prince’s words too grew colder, their previous closeness transforming into something jagged and foreign.

Kenny supposes it’s not the same when she isn’t a sweet, naive little girl anymore, starstruck by the young prince’s every word.

\---

The only upside to this whole arrangement was that Kenny got to spend time with Kyle’s entourage - including one General Bebe Stevens.  

A stunning vision of silver jewellery and bloodthirsty smiles, the elven general was the perfect opposite of Wendy at first glance - blonde curls, crimson leather armour, mastery over bows and archery. However, when it came to strategies, the two ladies were very much on the same wavelength, bouncing ideas off each other with ease and obvious enjoyment.  
_Very_ obvious enjoyment, in fact. After Wendy excused herself at the end of their first meeting, Bebe had let out a low whistle as soon as the door closed.  

_“Woof.”_ she had sighed, voice wistful. Next to her, Stan could only nod in dreamy agreement.

And that had only been the beginning - of the coy smiles, the fluttering eyelashes, the _compliments._ With ease that Kenny could only admire, Bebe slipped sweet words into every suggestion, body leaning against the table in a coy manner flattering every curve. Much to their shared delight, Wendy seemed perfectly receptive, her responding praise subtle but no less sweet. And what is a supportive Queen to do but play the part of wingman to the best of her ability?

The third morning of the festival arrives with crystal blue skies and blinding sunshine. Much to her delight, only Bebe is present in the meeting room upon Kenny’s arrival, high-spirited and eager to chat. Since spotting her beautifully crafted bow, the Queen had been dying to pick her brain about their shared weapon of choice.  

“With your aim and balance, you would be excellent at horseback archery.” Kenny says once she manages to restrain her gushing, delighting in the way Bebe’s eyes light up in response.

“Oh, I always wanted to try that! It sounds so exciting!” she grins, hands already clenching around imaginary reigns. “Not many chances to practice back at home, though. Too many trees, barely any horses.”

An unfortunate truth - the lush forests of the Elven Kingdom weren’t terribly accommodating for travel by horseback. On top of that, the elk and deer native to the woods weren’t fond of anyone riding them.  

“Are you sure I cannot tempt you to extend your stay after the Festival?” Kenny finds herself asking again, adopting her most charming smile. “Plenty of horses here, plenty of eager teachers. I would love to have someone with your insights and skills in my court.” There’s a flicker in Bebe’s eyes, prompting the Queen to inch closer. “Besides - I have a feeling it would make _certain_ people in my own military _very_ happy.”

The general bursts into laughter, hands flying over flushing cheeks. “Your Majesty plays _dirty!”_ she croons. “I would say flattery gets you nowhere, but I won’t lie to a Queen.”

“An excellent habit.” Kenny grins, tilting her head a fraction. “I am serious about the offer, though.”

Bebe’s lips part in a reply before she suddenly stills, expression shuttering into one of utmost professionalism. “Ah - I’m terribly sorry, your Majesty. I still need to deliver something before the meeting - please excuse me.”

With a quick bow, she hurries past her and out of the room. Bewildered, Kenny follows her path - and finds herself facing a rather enraged King.

Their eyes meet, complacent blue to narrowed green. A beat of silence becomes three, stretching long enough to become uncomfortable. When Kyle still makes no move to explain himself, Kenny breaks the stalemate with a sigh.  

“What have I done this time to anger you so, your Majesty?”

“So it’s not enough to gamble with propriety - you’re now looking to steal members of my court too?”  

For a long moment, she can only blink. “...excuse me?”

“The Stevens family has served the Elven Royal Court for almost two thousand years.” Kyle’s expression twists into something suspiciously petulant. Kenny half expects him to declare that she can’t just _take Bebe away_ \- like they’re children in the courtyard, picking their teams for the next game.

She raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that means she cannot even consider any other position, ever? Because that’s been her family’s occupation as long as anyone can remember? Seems just a little...backwards, don’t you think?”

Kyle’s eyes flash, jaw tightening with the tell-tale sign of grinding teeth. “The alliance between our families is an honoured and well-respected one.” he replies, voice practically a sneer. “Not all of us share your flippant interpretation of tradition.”

Kenny’s hands still at that, frozen in mid-motion. Outside the window, blissfully unaware, a bird chips.

“And what, _pray tell_ , is _that_ supposed to mean?” she asks, voice low. Blue eyes find the King’s once more, suddenly razor-sharp.

“You know perfectly well that I’m talking about the Games, Kenny.”

She cannot help the bark of laughter that slips free, voice pitched high with incredulity. “ _Really?!_ You are still up in arms about that?”

“ _Still?!_ It’s been two days!” Kyle responds hotly, throwing his hands in the air. “You decided to uproot one of the eldest traditions in Zaron, turn it into a cheap spectacle for riches, and _I'm_ the unreasonable one?!”

Kenny reminds herself to take a deep breath.   

“Do you think to consider your words before letting them spill free, my dear King?” she asks, voice saccharine sweet. With his trademark disregard to attempts at subtlety, Kyle ignores her.

“It’s completely disrespectful in the face of history! Those customs are part your - _our_ heritage!”

“ _Outdated_ customs!” Kenny snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “You cannot possibly think that we should continue living by rules written thousands of years ago - never questioning or challenging them!”

“So you just cast is aside completely? Just erase it?!”

“It’s _progress,_ your Majesty. You used to be familiar with the term, once upon a time. Do you need me to refresh your memory?”

A groan escapes Kyle, low and seething. The look her shoots her is one usually aimed at particularly stupid children. “You cannot force progress by completely disregarding tradition! It’s the fastest way to get yourself dethroned and overthrown!

“Oh, Goddess, spare me your excuses!” The volume of her voice takes them both by surprise. Kyle, however, recovers quickly.

“You might be able to charm the court into agreeing with all your whims now, but that won’t last forever!”

“Is...that what you think my strategy is? How I make my decisions?!” For a moment, the incredulity makes it hard to breathe. Shock and anger tussle before fury wins out, flooding her vision with red. “You cannot be so _ignorant -_ of me, and of your own position, too! Name one decision you could make that would leave the Elven council rioting! And I don't mean moaning and name calling - I mean withdrawing their support and making plans to replace you with Ike on the throne!” She gives him a precious five seconds to gape - unable to think of a proper response, _naturally_ \- before continuing _._ “We are enjoying an unprecedented time of peace, Kyle! If there ever was a time for bold new decisions, it's now!”

The King’s shock morphs into a scowl, tight with annoyance. “It’s not that simple, and you know that.”

The tired, predictable answer. Kenny doesn’t even try disguising the bitterness in her voice. She is tired, so _fucking_ tired of this. “And to think you used to be such an inspired child, full of big dreams!”

“Oh, spare me your judgement, Kenny!”

“No judgement, _your Majesty_. I'm just disappointed at the adult you turned out to be.” she sniffs, raising her chin derisively. “Just like the rest of them.”

“Better that than a sloppy princess still playing pretend!”

Somewhere, outside the window, the bell begins to toll. She doesn’t hear a single note, her ears filled with white static.  
She knows she has to say something. Something cutting, something flippant, something smart. To show that his words meant nothing, _mean_ nothing, have no power over her whatsoever -  

Kenny walks out of the room without a word.

-

The Palace boasted a stunning set of gardens, a marvel to behold all year round. The paths were guarded by ice sculptures in the winter, canopies littered with icicles. In the autumn, the sunset-coloured leaves drew artists from all over the continent, eager-eyed and easels at the ready. It was, without a doubt, the Queen’s favourite place to retreat to - especially the spot rich with wildflowers in a far corner, hidden away from the general public.  
The wind sweeps across the grounds, catching the ends of her hair and making the loose tendrils dance. The sun peers through the thick leaves above, painting dappled patterns of light across her skirt. Her crown lies in the grass by her feet, even the thought of wearing it much too heavy.

The fury had dwindled away by the time she reached the gardens, leaving only sadness and a profound sense of exhaustion in its wake. Unbidden, a memory flashes through her mind - of a very similar garden, a very similar sense of anguish. She had been twelve or so, hiding behind a rosebush, hands pressed over her mouth to muffle the sounds of her sobs. So focused on stifling herself, she didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until there were arms curling around her shoulders.

_“Jesus.” she hears a voice above her head mutter, right before a sleeve is pressed against her cheek. “Breathe - c’mon, Kenny, you gotta breathe.”_

_Many hiccoughs and wiping of snotty noses later, Kevin’s expression flits between worried and positively murderous._

_“Your tutor is an utter piece of shit and I’m going to stuff his bed full of manure.”_

_“...it’s not his fault that I just...can’t remember it all.” she whispers, the admission heavy and bitter on her tongue. “But I can do it, Kevin!” She just needed to try harder, study longer, she just needed a little bit more_ **_time_ ** _to absorb it all. “I_ **_can_ ** _do it, I_ **_swear_ ** _, I just - “_

_“Hey, hey, hey, none of that.” her brother chides. His eyes soften a fraction, hand moving to rest between her shoulderblades. “Obviously. Never doubt that you’d make an amazing Queen, little one. But you don’t have to do it if it’s just going to leave you...like this.”_

_“But - “_

_“Ken.” Calloused hands cup her cheeks, Kevin’s frown hovering inches away from her face. “You don’t owe these people_ **_shit_ ** _. I don’t care what their names are, what this paper says and that Lord says, we don’t owe them shit.” His shoulders sag as a heavy sigh escapes him, anger finally giving way to concern. “You don’t gotta take on the crown if all it does is make you miserable.”_

Slowly, she opens her eyes, vision clouded and throat tight.  
Gods, she misses him so much.

Just as she contemplates the logistics of riding out in secret to visit him before dinner, a branch cracks behind her, under deliberately heavy steps. The wind carries the tell-tale scent of cedar towards her, revealing the intruder’s identity even before he speaks.  

She is going to kill Scott Malkinson. What part of _‘I don’t wish to be disturbed’_ did he not understand?!

“...permission to join you, your Majesty.”

The irony is almost enough to make her laugh. As if he ever heeded her permission for _anything._ “Do as you wish.”

After a pause, the Elf King does just that, taking a seat an arm’s length away from her. She casts a look in his direction long enough to take in the sharp angle of his shoulders, legs crossed and back straight.  

Perfect, as always.

“...Your gardens are as stunning as I remember them to be.” he finally says after what seems like an eternity. His voice is soft and courteous, almost cautiously polite. It makes every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “It’s a stunning feat to keep them so vibrant without magic, my lady.”

“Don't hurt yourself.” she interrupts, hating the hoarseness of her voice. “We both know you don’t respect me enough to bother with titles when there isn’t an audience - there is no need for the politeness and protocol now.”

The King takes a moment to weigh her words, brows furrowed. Idly, his fingers brush against the grass by his knee. “...I didn’t realise that titles held such importance you.”

_They would for you too if you had been denied them for the most of your adult life._

Beyond the carefully clipped hedges, the voices of guests float towards them on the wind. A bird hops from one branch to another above them, practising snippets of a song. Before Kenny’s eyes can follow it into the sky, Kyle clears his throat.

“I’d like to apologise.” His fingers still in motion, stiff with obvious effort. “What I said was completely out of line. I was angry and spoke carelessly and I humbly ask for your forgiveness.”

The words linger in the air between them, catching in Kenny’s throat and prompting her to swallow. She holds Kyle’s gaze as she slowly nods. “...It is your opinion, and I cannot fault you for having one.”

Something flashes through the King’s eyes before he turns his head, lips tugging into a wry smile. “If only it was true.” he murmurs, almost as talking to himself. “...If I believed that, this would all be much easier.”

Before Kenny can ask anything, he leans back, perusing his surroundings with a mixture of fondness and intense scrutiny.

“This always was my favourite spot of this castle.” His fingers dig into the grass, telltale sparks and a sudden burst of saplings accompanying the motion. “The magic is strong here.”

The words slip free before she can stop herself, accompanied by a snort. “...Liar.” She bites her lip when he whips his gaze to hers, bewildered. “This was your favourite spot because it looks just like the Companion’s favourite thinking spot.”  

There’s a cough as the King ducks his head. Peeking out from under his curls, Kenny sees the tips of his sharp ears turn red.

“Well. There might have been that.”

She shouldn’t ask.  
There really is no point in going down that road. Their conflict had been resolved with the least amount of public fallout - their plan was back on track.  
She shouldn’t ask.

“...have you read the latest book?”

The rush of exhilaration is as sharp as the ensuing mortification flooding her seconds later. Seemingly unaware, Kyle quirks an eyebrow.

“‘ _On the Verge of Chaos?’_ The one that ends with the masked vigilante locked in a - “

_“Stop!!”_ she all but screeches, hands flying to clamp over her ears. Once safely deaf, she shoots the other the most threatening glare she can muster. “I might have forgiven you for your accusations but rest assured - you spoil what happens to the Mad Professor, and I will _never_ forgive you!”

Kyle’s expression is a wonder to behold - a hilarious mixture of stunned surprise and barely concealed amusement. Kenny doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s thinking of the same scene - of a tiny teenager with scruffy knees and a shaky grasp on the Elven language, loudly threatening a young prince with significant body harm if he _dared_ read ahead without her. Of the maids, horrified and unsure of whether they could reprimand a _princess_.  
Of Kyle’s own face, gripping the book with a perfectly amused smile.  

As if on cue, they both withdraw their gazes at the same time. With stubborn determination, Kenny fixes her eyes in her lap, shuddering at the warmth curling in her chest, unexpected in presence and frightening in familiarity.    
_I shouldn’t have asked.  
_She refuses to glance his way, even when the telltale sounds of rustling and magic fills the air, accompanied by a surprisingly sweet scent. Just as her curiosity is on the verge of causing her physical pain,  Kyle moves to get to his feet with a grunt.

“...We might not see eye to eye on many things, but that does not mean I wish to see you or your throne threatened.” Ruby red robes flutter into her line of vision before there’s a careful, unexpected weight against the top of her head, his fingers brushing against her hair.

“I will see you at dinner.”

He is long gone by the time she lifts her gaze.  
Slowly, Kenny slips a hand into the pocket of her dress, tugging out a small mirror and raising it to her face.    
Violent-tinted petals are the first thing she sees, splitting into perfect six-armed stars. Woven between the fragrant bunches of hyacinths are magnolias, elegantly oblong, white petals tipped in pink. Their stalks twist together to form a stunningly shaped crown, the magic of their creation keeping them fresh and perfect.

And in the depths of her sanctuary, Kenny tips her head back, unable to help the laughter that bubbles free from her throat.

Because of course -  
Of course the years would only make Kyle all the more skilled at creating things so beautiful.  

 

 

AN:

_Argument Summary:_  Kyle brings up his discontent regarding Kenny's decision with the games. Shocked that he is still up in arms about it, the two argue their differing opinions, Kyle insisting that their heritage must be preserved, whilst Kenny claiming that they shouldn't follow rules written thousands of years ago without questioning them. Kyle reminds her that these kinds of decisions are the fastest way to get herself dethroned. Upset, Kenny challenges him that they live in an unprecedented time of peace - the time for bold new decisions. When Kyle deflects this by claiming it's not that simple, Kenny grows tired of his excuses, sniping that she's disappointed to see him grow from an inspired child to an adult just like the rest. Kyle shoots back that it's better than being a sloppy princess still playing pretend. 

 

This chapter fought me, I'm not going to lie - the world did not want to give me opportunities to write this week. It's been a good one, though - it was my birthday on Tuesday, and I'm one year closer to fully embracing that Grandma Life. 

For the flowercrown, [purple/blue hyacinths](https://img.hunkercdn.com/630x/photos.demandstudios.com/45/190/fotolia_3010273_XS.jpg) are flowers mean 'I'm sorry', and [magnolias](https://d6p0gevo8s9lm.cloudfront.net/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/m/a/magnolia-soulangeana-750x750.jpg) are symbols for royalty (taken from [here](https://www.hunker.com/12328279/flowers-that-mean-sorry) and [here](http://thelanguageofflowers.com/)!) As always, thank you very much for the wonderful comments on the last chapter, and welcome to the new readers! I hope you enjoy this  _beast._

**Fantasy Fic Rec:**[Crossfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924302) by [Townycod13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13)

Again, I hardly think I need to introduce Towny to any K2 fan :D Hauntingly beautiful and stunning in execution, Crossfire tells the story of a King who didn't heed the warnings about his land and kingdom from end to beginning. The Stick of Truth lore is really cleverly utilised, and the ending is one that leaves you smiling despite an aching heart. The characterisation is one of my favourite things about this fic - King Kyle in his frustrating, impulsive glory and Princess Kenny, a wonderful infusion of ethereal beauty and crude, sarcastic humour. I can't really say much more without spoiling the ending - but I would very much recommend checking it out (alongside the rest of Towny's works!)  

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Any thoughts are super appreciated <3 If you're on Tumblr, [hit me up!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)  


	4. Swords, Shield and Speculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which swords are crossed, the King reunites with the younger Princess McCormick, and the grand history of speculating about royal sex lives are discussed over dinner.

“ - two, three!”

Swords clash together, the impact making Kyle’s teeth rattle. Swiftly, he steps back, wrists twisting his weapon to the side - but Stan is already advancing, blows quick and merciless. A sweep of his arm and four rapid steps later, Kyle topples off balance once again, sword clattering to the ground beside him.

“Aaaand that’s four-nil!” his knight declares. He sweeps his hair back, the smug glint of blue eyes ruining his beaming smile somewhat. “You alright down there, my lord?”

Kyle doesn’t dignify him with an answer as he gets to his feet and retrieves his weapon. He dusts his long linen coat off, customary crimson robes set aside for something more suited to sparring. “...Remind me again why you are so insistent we hit each other with fake swords?”  

“Because it’s always good to keep your skills with weapons sharp, in case you exhaust your magic in battle.”

A rather bullshit motivation, really, that only deepens Kyle’s scowl and widens Stan’s grin. It’s no secret that if pressed, the Elf King is _much_ more proficient with a mace or a lance - or even a crossbow. Despite half a dozen tutors’ efforts throughout the years, the nuances of swordfighting remained somewhat of an unconquerable mystery to him. Stan’s obvious glee at his expense, coupled with the multitude of bruises now littered across his body, only sours Kyle’s mood further.

“You know, it’s rather irresponsible of you, Stan.” The tip of his practice weapon scrapes against the ground as he walks back into position, free hand on his hip. “We _are_ in the Human Kingdom, home to some of the most famous sword-wielders in the whole continent - and you’re squandering precious time on me that could be spent sparring and learning from the best?” With an exaggerated hum, Kyle lifts his fingers to his chin. “It’s a waste, really. Both as your King and as your _best friend,_ I can’t let you miss such a great opportunity to _grow_ and _learn.”_ It’s hard to withhold his grin as Stan’s expression starts to crack into one of alarm but somehow, he manages. “I’ll talk to Wendy at the next opportunity, and arrange for a private training session after this whole mess has been sorted out. Who knows - maybe the esteemed Paladin can find time to give you tips too.”

“...You do that, and I will hide bananas _all over your room_ , Kyle.” The words come out as a hiss, Stan’s promise fervent and deadly serious. “You won’t find them until it’s too late, _I promise you."_

Kyle is still cackling when the sudden bustle from the surrounding soldiers alerts him to a new presence. He turns his head just in time to catch a glimpse of fluttering blonde hair and a glint of gold - signalling the arrival of the Queen to the training grounds.

It’s the first time he’s seen her since leaving the garden the previous day. Last night’s dinner doesn’t really count, with them separated by two dozen seats and surrounded by hundreds. The itch under his skin that so often accompanies her presence is almost absent, he notes with some surprise. Yet the aftertaste of yesterday’s guilt still lingers on his tongue, just strong enough to keep his thoughts spinning.  
It’s not as if a single argument and subsequent apology resolved matters. The topic at hand remains unsolved, their opinions no closer to reconciliation. And yet - he swears there’s a shift in the air between them, the subtlest change that prevents Kyle from regretting his moment of vulnerability. There - under the leaves of a thousand-year old tree, hidden from the world and surrounded by snippets of childhood memories - for a single, glorious moment, there was a spark of a connection he long thought lost.  
As if on cue, Kenny tips her head back with a dainty laugh, fingers pressed over her mouth in a graceful approximation of a noble lady. The sound is akin to glass bells - delicate, airy and _just_ loud enough to remain polite. Utterly manufactured and utterly _fake._ Chest constricting in a manner intimately familiar, Kyle resists the urge to scoff.  
It seems a little harder to believe, half a day later. Under the blazing rays of the sun, drenched in reality, that little spark seems more and more like a distant memory, conjured by a wistful mind.    
He watches her greet the gathered troops, accepting their nervous curiosity with ease. As she lifts her head to greet an Elven lieutenant, their gazes meet. There’s a startled moment of recognition - and then her eyes crinkle, a warm echo of the girl teasing her about his favourite character from the day before.  
It lasts the whole of a split second - but it’s enough to make his next breath a little easier to take.  

With swift, easy steps, she approaches the low fence between the path and the training grounds. Behind her, Paladin Butters and her lady-in-waiting follow.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” she says once in hearing range. Her eyes sparkle, polite smile exchanged for something a little more vexing. “Now _this_ is an unusual sight.”

For a moment, Kyle is unsure what she’s referring to - to the sparring match or his rather un-royal attire. Thankfully, she is quick to clarify. “If my memory serves me right, King Kyle, swords are quite far from your weapon of choice.”

It's no little effort to mask his surprise at the loaded words. The floodgates for shared memories were now open, it seems. “...A lot of things change over the years, your Majesty.”

“I see.” The look Kenny shoots him is disbelieving at best and amused at worst - as if she found the possibility of his improvement hilarious. Rather rich, coming from the girl who once simply threw her sword at him during a sparring match, insisting it was a ‘tactical choice appropriate for the situation’. “Do you still prefer to swing your sword above your head, as if you’re handling a hammer?”

“Perhaps.” Kyle shoots back, teeth flashing with his sharpening smile. “Do _you_ still tend to forget how heavy your sword is, and consequently drop it on your foot half the time?”

Paladin Butters’ trembling lip and shaking shoulders answer any doubts he might have had.

Cornflower eyes flash before narrowing slightly, Kenny’s smile twisting into something rather wry. “My skills, I believe, are very different today than in your Majesty’s memories.”  

“No doubt.” His gaze is still lingering on her smirk when a sudden impulse grabs a hold of him. “In that case, would you care for a rematch?”

A murmur runs through the soldiers, their idle chattering suddenly ceasing altogether. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Stan stiffen.

The Queen’s surprise is a lot more subtle, eyes widening before she disguises it with a quick flutter of her lashes. “...I _do_ have a Festival to run, my King.”

“Of course.” Kyle concedes with a dip of his head, managing to keep his face straight. He waits until Kenny turns to leave before letting his sigh slip loose. “I suppose the scores will just have to remain in my favour for the next decade, too.”

He can feel Stan’s glare burning into his back, brimming with exasperation and many, _many_ questions. Shaky footwork and barely-memorised forms are rickety pillars to base a challenge on - in front of half of their shared military, too. But Kyle is well-aware that Kenny’s proficiency lies with her bow and her bare fists - or if particularly pressed, knives and daggers.  
As far as swords were concerned, the playing field was even.

Kenny goes perfectly still, nails grazing the material of her skirt. Slowly, silently, he counts to three.

Gracefully, the Queen reaches for her crown, untangling the delicately sculpted metal from her hair. And then, with a swift flick of the wrist, she tosses it in Butters’ direction before bounding forwards and vaulting over the fence.  
To his credit, Paladin Butters takes this in stride, swiftly catching the crown and cradling it to his chest. The lady-in-waiting, obviously rather new, does not.

 _“Your Majesty!”_ she all but shrieks, hands frozen mid-motion. “Your dress - your hair!”

Kyle can’t hold back a smile at the worry in her voice, his chuckle lost in the excited cheer of the soldiers. _If only she knew._  
The Queen possessed a rather specific set of skills, perfected and inspired by one unsuspecting tutor who - years ago - had declared both Kenny’s hairstyle and choice of clothes unsuitable for training. Having just finally grown her hair past her shoulders, the then-Princess did _not_ taken it well. The very next day, she arrived to her lessons in a fitted hunting dress and heeled boots, ribbons wrapping her locks into loose pigtails. Ignoring their tutor’s splutters, she then proceeded through the tasks as usual, aim precise and strikes merciless.  
Kyle watches her stroll across the grounds, purple satin billowing with every step. She holds her hand out wordlessly and Stan relinquishes his wooden sword without question.  
He wonders, watching her take up position, chin held high and eyes akin to a coiled viper, just about to strike. He wonders just how many of her subjects know that Kenny could win a war in a ballgown and broken heels.  

He allows his posture to relax, giving his weapon an experimental twirl. “Best out of three?”

A snort escapes the Queen. In a smooth motion, she flips her braids over her shoulder. “And have this end in three minutes? Make that five.”

The buzz around them grows as the soldiers inch to find a better viewing spot, excitement only escalating once Sir Marshwalker - seeing that this mess was now inevitable - steps forward for a quick reminder of the rules. Kyle barely pays him any heed - _hands must remain on the hilts of your weapon at all times, please refrain from harming each other seriously, blah, blah, blah_ \- too busy dragging up memories and formulating strategies. A familiar voice suddenly cuts through the murmurs, clear and borderline bloodthirsty.

“Kick her ass, your Majesty!” Bebe cheers from the crowd, throwing her fist in the air with vicious enthusiasm. Her fellow elves are quick to join in.

“No solidarity for your fellow lady, General Stevens?” Kenny questions, voice lilting with exaggerated hurt. She clutches her chest, much to the crowd’s delight. “Such _betrayal!”_

The blonde general sends an apologetic bow her way before repeating the encouragements in her native tongue. The human soldiers respond in kind, hollering their support until Stan’s voice rises above them all, counting down from five.  

Kyle raises his sword in greeting, polished wood lingering inches away from his nose. Kenny mirrors his motions, the smooth roll of her shoulders worlds away from the stiff movements of the past.

A beat of silence ticks by after the final number rings out.

Kyle is the first to move, dashing forwards with his weapon aimed at her head. With a grunt, Kenny yanks her sword up to meet his. Arms trembling with the impact, Kyle twists to the side to try and free himself. A flash of white teeth is the only warning he receives before she lunges forwards, the blunt tip of her sword pressing against his cheek.  

_Fuck._

“One for Queen Kenny!” Stan calls out, voice barely audible above the roar of the crowd. With a grin, she dips into a bow before resuming the starting position. Grip tightening, Kyle follows suit.

This time, he lingers, waiting until Kenny makes the first move, arm painting a sweeping circle as she aims for his hip. Swiftly, he steps to the side the very last moment, seizing the split-second of surprise to land a hit on her shoulder.

“And one of King Kyle!”

His thrill carries over to the next battle, retracing the steps Stan painstakingly drilled into him just hours ago. He manages to land a hit on Kenny’s wrist, prompting her to drop her weapon.  
It might be the rush of adrenaline, amplifying every burst of sound, but he could swear the cheers in his favour ring deafeningly loud.

“Alright.” the Queen says once the roars die down, giving her sore wrist a little shake. With determined movements, she grabs two handfuls of her skirt, hitching them high enough to start tucking the material into her belt. The skin of her shins flash into view, prompting a choked gasp from her lady-in-waiting.

“T-t-t-that ain’t f-f-fair, your M-Majesty!” a familiar voice calls out from the crowd. A quick glance confirms the identity his own bard, flute clutched in hand and hat askew. “Y-you flash y-your ankles at our King, he doesn’t sta…sta…stand a chance!”

Startled laughter sweeps through the audience, hidden behind a dozen hands immediately. Unbidden, Kyle feels the blood rush to his cheeks, mortification interrupting his stunned shock at _whatever the hell she was doing_. Kenny, on the other hand, just sends a wink Jimmy’s way.

“A lady must consider every strategy, my dear bard.“ she replies sweetly. Skirt secured, she makes a grab for her weapon. “Fortune, after all…”

 _“Favours the bold!”_ echoes the crowd. For a moment, every human voice morphs into a single shout, sending a tremor down Kyle’s spine.

He knew that he was well loved amongst his people. The residents of the Elven Kingdom held the Broflovski family in high regard, grateful for the flourishing era of peace under their rule. But the people of the Human Kingdom _loved_ Kenny with a fierce sort of devotion, despite her relatively short reign and rather unconventional circumstances. Countless eyes follow her as she takes up position once more, smiles wide and eyes eager with sincere excitement.  
_Some things, it seems, never change.  
_Stan raises his arm, counting down once more, and Kyle banishes the thought to the back of his mind.

The minutes melt into the rhythm of their steps, punctuated by the clashes of worn wood against wood. They sweep in close before ducking back immediately, basic forms of attacks and parries interrupted in favour of snarled threats and aborted headbutts. Amidst his attempts to knock the sword loose of her grip, Kenny sneaks in a stab to his ribs, evening the score.  
It’s a rather clumsy picture they paint together, in all honesty - more like quarrelling apprentices than a clash of King and Queen. Halfway through their final match, Kenny swiftly changes tactics, dancing away from every attack in increasingly elaborative ways, forcing Kyle to practically chase her around the training grounds. Oddly enough, he feels his lips tugging into a smile in between his shouted demands that she _stays still.  
_Just as his lungs begin to burn and his grip becomes slippery with sweat, Kenny whirls around. Their blades clash together, faces only inches apart as they both grapple for control.  

“Lookin’ a little out of breath there.” she breathes, eyes glittering. Long strands of her hair, long escaped the confines of her braids, are plastered against her cheek. “Should we stop so you can concede the match?”

“No need.” he responds in kind. A bead of sweat rolls down his nose, the collar of his robe sticking against the back of his neck. “Ladies first.”

The gust of her laugh brushes against his cheek, startled and scorching. From the proximity, he can see every freckle smattered across the bridge of her nose.  
She shoves against his hold. He stands strong, but just barely, the muscles in his arm burning. He sees Kenny’s teeth dig into her lower lip, her elbow trembling with the effort. Dragging a mouthful of oxygen into his lungs, he adjusts his grip and -   

“Your Majesty!”

The voice is sharp, urgent, shattering the moment. Kyle leaps back, just about managing to keep his balance.  
The hooded messenger falls into a deep bow, long sleeves fluttering to the ground with the motion. Although her features remain covered, the apology in her tone is clear. “The General requires your urgent presence, my Queen.”

When Kyle glances back, Kenny is already halfway to complete composure, breath steady and fingers carding her hair back into obedience. With a smile, she returns the wooden sword to Stan before turning to face the Elf King.

“Until next time then.” she says. As she walks past, her fingers brush against his arm. “I do believe that makes the score, at the very least, even.”

Kyle thinks he nods in response. The next time he blinks, Kenny is already being ushered towards the castle - flanked by a rather harried lady-in-waiting - and their crowd of spectators is already scattering, equal parts elated and disappointed. As he runs a hand through his messy curls, Stan approaches him.

“What timing.” Kyle sighs once they’re alone, exhaustion hitting him like a landslide. “Given another second, I would have won.”

His faithful knight’s responding stare is flat and mile-long. “I want a raise.”

\---

For the next two hours, Kyle continues to linger in the training grounds.

Thick clouds clutter the summer sky, dampening the rays of the sun. Stan is long gone, called away by exhaustion and errands he couldn’t ignore any further. All around him, familiar faces from the morning are slowly replaced with newcomers, clutching empty wrappers and prizes from the festivities. Kyle watches them from his seat, quiet and contemplative. It’s a rare feat, to go so long amongst people without attracting attention, and he savours the opportunity to just watch the crowd.  
Save for the Barbarian clans, most of the guests have arrived for the Festival, painting a colourful crowd. Human hosts eagerly gossip with dwarven guests, the emerald uniforms of elven soldiers mingling with the bright blues robes of the dryads around them. A stone’s throw away, a young fire mage dances around a sea witch, their magic more a playful dance than a challenge of the elements.  
There’s confusion in many exchanges, both linguistic and cultural. A human scout shows off her bow to a group of elven archers, who can only gape in horror at the construction. Inevitably, an elder visitor from his kingdom will ask their fellow soldier how they can possibly find the sad, stumpy ears of humans attractive. And yet - the underlying atmosphere is one of peace, the ease of camaraderie palpable and infectious. So very different to the conferences and Festivals of his youth, just a handful of years ago.

In the distance, the bell tolls - his reminder that he needs to start getting ready for the feast. So lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realise who he walked past until her voice chases after him.

“Kyle?”

He glances over his shoulder, steps stumbling to a halt as soon as he takes in the the heart-shaped face and the terribly familiar cornflower eyes, framed by brunette hair and a sunshine smile that only brightens with recognition.

“It _is_ you!” she says, right before her eyes widen in alarm. “I mean - your Royal Highness - ”

“Karen.” he cuts in before she can stumble through his titles. He quickly retraces his steps, head bowed and fingers reaching for her hand. “It’s good to see you, Princess.”

“Same! It’s been so long.” Her grip is surprisingly strong, her grin still possessing the power to give life to dozens of unicorns. “I’m glad to see you in our home again - I hope you’re enjoying this year’s Festival!”

There’s a knowing little tilt to her smile, and Kyle suddenly wonders if she was in the crowd hours ago, witnessing the impromptu challenge.

He wonders just how much Kenny has shared with her, regarding their history and the escalating...friction of their most recent meetings. (How many of their public arguments has she been privy to? He can’t, for the life of him, remember.)  
He wonders if she knows about their...arrangement. About the _circumstances_ leading to their arrangement. About the argument, the thorny accusations. About the garden, and the crown of hyacinths and magnolias.  
It occurs to Kyle, quite suddenly, that there is a _lot_ of things Karen could potentially know about. None of the possibilities make him feel any more at ease.

“Your hospitality, as always, is flawless.” he replies aloud, managing a smile. “Are you, by any chance, looking for your sister? She was called away by the general a little while ago.”

Karen blinks, smile briefly faltering before turning sheepish. “Ah - I don’t make a habit of organising my training around my sister’s schedule. I try to avoid upsetting her.”

“...Training?” It’s only now that Kyle takes a proper look at her - at the well-worn armour across her body, at her hair - once waist-length - cropped to a chin-length bob.

“Yes.” The sun glints off her earrings as she tilts her head. “The next Autumn Games are open for everyone, after all.”

 It takes a few seconds for all the implications to sink in - but when they do, it’s akin to swallowing ice, heavy and numbing. All his assumptions about Kenny’s motivations come to a screeching halt, replaced by new ones that stir up more conflict than anger. With a twitch of her lips, Karen’s eyes suddenly crinkle.

“Yes - that’s the same face my sister wore when I shared my intentions.” she says. Idly, her fingers trace the handle of the practice weapon hanging off her hip. “I had to remind her that if we were talking about equal opportunities for everyone in the land, that meant taking me into account too.”

Kyle slowly nods, hoping his expression doesn’t betray his growing confusion. “...was entering the tournament a life-long dream of yours?”

“Ah, no. Hardly.”

“...then I must admit, Princess, I don’t really understand.”

There’s a moment of hesitation on the Princess’ part. Then, quickly, her eyes dart around to ensure they have no audience.

“My sister never wanted me to dedicate myself to her court the moment I came of age. She was always encouraging me to travel the world, to chase and find my passions, dreams, and discover what brings me the most joy and satisfaction.” Karen’s expression softens for a moment before exasperation takes over. “But the truth is - no one _knows_ what to do with a younger Princess. There’s no merit to seeking my hand in hopes of getting titles or a chance at becoming King. But I’m _still_ technically second in line to the throne. Even when I tried visiting other Kingdoms for training before, for experience - no one would put me to work. But as a victor of the Games, a knight in service of the royal family - I could travel as a diplomat, train and get involved with exchange programmes. Really get to learn about others, of how our laws affect our people and our allies - how we could improve things with both!”

As she speaks, her royal composure steadily crumbles to give way to unbidden enthusiasm, echoing the earliest memories Kyle carried of her. Of that boundless, all-encompassing sense of curiosity that she shared with her sister, fascinated by anything and everything around them. Of wide eyes and tight grips on the nearest person - be it their elder brother, a tutor or Kyle himself - questions rapid and terribly specific.    
(There’s also many sentiments lurking behind her words, things unsaid that make Kyle’s heart ache uncomfortably in recognition - of the conflict between familial love and personal desire, of watching people you admire do great things and longing to do your part.)

“Kenny is unconvinced, and quite against it still.” Karen continues, reaching to rush an invisible speck off her shoulder. “But I want to try, at the very least.”

“A noble ambition.” he has to concede. He is rewarded with a smile.

“And even preparing for it has been such ride! Everyone who is training is so thrilled to finally get to take part. There’s lady-knights-in-the-making from the countryside, and brilliant swordsmen born into bodies that disqualified them before. Yesterday, the most interesting man joined us, whose whole family fought against the Grand Wizard’s minions to help Kenny take the throne. Even our tutor is optimistic for the future.”   

_It’s progress, your Majesty. You used to be familiar with the term, once upon a time._

In the distance, the bell tolls again, claiming both of their attentions. Just as Kyle is about to begin his hasty goodbyes, delicate fingers grasp his hand.   

“I know you have...concerns.” The knowing tone is now naked in the Princess’ voice, matching the glint in her eyes. “But rest assured - this Kingdom wouldn’t let my sister forget its heritage.”

\---

Karen’s words echo in his mind on his way back to the castle, chasing the tails of his earlier assumptions and conclusions, twisting and turning. Muscle memory carries him back to the correct wing and the right floor. However, it abandons him once it comes to door handles - the room he steps into is definitely not his. It is a room, however, that contains his General, slotted in the corner with her fingers entangled in glossy black hair.  
They step apart at the sound of the creaking door, both pairs of eyes meeting the King’s. As he stares back, feet rooted to the floor, Bebe’s face lights up.

“Perfect timing!” she says cheerfully. Her hands brush Wendy’s hair back easily before settling on her shoulder. “The Queen has invited you to a private dinner in the palace conservatory after she’s done entertaining the nobles, to catch you up on everything.”

“Speaking of.” Wendy says, bowing her head. Save for twin pink spots on her cheeks, she looks as composed as ever. “Please excuse me.”

She sweeps out of the room, gracefully manoeuvring around Kyle’s frozen form. With a hum, Bebe moves to follow her. She’s halfway down the corridor when Kyle finally regains control of his tongue.  

“Bebe, we really should discuss your - _Bebe!“_

\---

The sun is setting by the time Kyle makes his way to the conservatory.  
Orange rays scatter through the glass ceiling, high and polished to gleaming perfection. Thick vegetation lines the walls, lush green vines twisting around stone pillars. The scent of jasmine lingers in the air, mingling with the tell-tale fragrance of a dozen lit candles. As Kyle steps through the door, the tiles light up with momentarily with protective runes. The Queen awaits him at the centre of the room, hair twisted into twin buns and clad in violet satin. And in the seat next to her -

“...what the hell is _that?”_

Kenny arches an eyebrow, following the line of his gaze to the bug-eyed, skittish animal curled up on the plush chair. “... _He_ is Mr. Possy.”

Oh, _of course._ “...And pray tell, why did you bring him along to _dinner?”_

To his surprise, Kenny’s eyes narrow, shoulders squaring under the finely-woven lace sleeves of her dress.

“He has separation anxiety.” she replies defensively, hands smoothing across the creature’s fur. “I feed him around this time, and I didn’t want him to be alone the whole evening.”

Having expected a teasing grin and an explanation that barely disguised intents to annoy him, Kyle is left with an uncomfortable itch under his skin, fingers twitching as he takes a seat opposite her. “...ah.”

Kenny’s lips twist, fingers slipping to fix the ribbon around Mr. Possy’s neck. As if on cue, two servers join them, balancing loaded trays with unshakeable confidence.  
Once the soup has been served and the uniformed servants have taken their leave, the Queen picks up her spoon without a word, free hand still caressing her pet. As the silence continues to linger, Kyle begins to suspect that his ill-phrased outburst hasn’t been received kindly.  
_A fine start to a fake date._ He briefly considers asking how her back feels after the morning spar before quickly discarding the idea, reaching for a safe topic instead.

“...How is your brother doing?”

As expected, Kenny whips her head up immediately, eyes narrowed. “...why do you ask?”

“Curiosity.” he says, careful to keep his expression even. Minding his sleeves, he reaches for the salt. “I heard you’re a second-time aunt now, and was wondering if the countryside was treating them well.”

He wasn’t lying - Kyle had always held a certain kind of fascination for Kevin McCormick. Upon finding out he was first in line for the throne, the young prince supposedly declared _"Fuck that!"_  to a dozen shocked diplomats before leaving the room without further ado. Despite the insistent pleading, bribery and even threats of blackmail, Kevin insisted on renouncing his claim for the throne as soon as possible. After his sister’s coronation, he moved to a quiet little town some ways away from the capitol. If the gossips were to be believed, he still lived in blissful matrimony with a Barbarian warrior, infamous for her brute strength and foul temper.

“...yes, it is.” Kenny replies after a beat. Although the outright suspicion is absent from her expression, her pose remains guarded. “They’re all in good health and very happy.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I...don’t claim to understand the appeal of a town famous for its cheese races and abundance of dogs, but that’s another matter altogether.”

A snort escapes the Queen, despite her obvious efforts. “Trust me, I can’t either. I visited him at the end of the spring for my niece’s birthday, only to find that he had adopted a _third dog - “_

The anecdote lasts all the way through the soup and the entrees, turning more colourful with every question Kyle asks. When the servers collect the empty dishes, Kenny’s shoulders are relaxed once more, apprehension in her eyes given way to amusement.  
Her mellowed mood, for reasons he doesn’t care to examine further, is rather contagious.  

The main dishes are soon served, and the conversation sails to different waters once they’re alone again. Between bites, Kenny summarises the news her General amassed over the past day. It’s both a lot and not much at all - more rumours, more hooded messengers, each singing a different story when pressed. The only thing certain is that they were right to be worried - there is something sinister at work behind the scenes.

“On the bright side,” she notes, jabbing her fork in the air for emphasis, “they don’t suspect a thing. Wendy’s agents have been able to surprise every target so far, and everyone I have spoken to is _very_ invested in our sordid love affair.”

There’s a smear of cranberry sauce just below her lip, red and shiny. It’s incredibly distracting. “Truly a cause for celebration.”

“A toast, at the very least.” she grins, looking much too pleased. “It’s all gone down beautifully.”

“Much too easily.” Kyle cannot help but point out, mouth twisting at the thought of the whole court - nay,  _Kingdom_ - chewing over his theoretical bedroom affairs. “What is it about two individuals constantly at odds that makes people so eager to believe they're attracted to each other?”

“The tension? The chemistry? The potential for charged, _passionate_ lovemaking?” Kenny shrugs without batting an eye. Delicately, she wipes her mouth clean. “It's a very popular trope in all those romance novels with the delightfully saucy covers.”

“And you're familiar with this fact because…?”

The Queen rewards his grin with a prim sigh. “Not all of us learnt how to read from century-old tomes and spellbooks, Kyle.” Her eyes light up with a sudden thought. “Did Bebe tell you that she stumbled across a reading in town, where the story was about the two of us? Speculations on how the _confession_ went, and what _really_ goes on behind closed doors?”

Kyle feels his eye twitch, grip on his fork tightening at the memory. “...In excruciating detail.”

“I didn’t expect the news to reach the locals so quickly.” Kenny muses, fingers tapping against her lower lip. “Frankly, I’m just impressed at the _speed_ at which this must have been written to be ready for today’s reading.”

She says this all with causal ease, as if talking about tax figures or the weather. But Kyle knows she must be _well aware_ at the _exorbitant_ detail the story had about their hypothetical love life - right down to reactions and _preferences._ “And that doesn't...bother you?”

“Pardon?”

“A stranger wrote _three scrolls’_ worth of...speculation of you - of how you feel, what you think and what you... _do_ with someone else!”

“And in doing so, have developed their prose and writing skills.” Kenny points out. “Who knows - perhaps one day, they will go on to write a celebrated novel that takes both our Kingdoms by storm. And it all started from _us_ \- from being inspired by all the _hows_ and _what-ifs.”_

“...that is a terrifying thought.”  

“Stranger things have happened. Besides, there is a long and proud heritage of fantasizing about the potential love lives of the monarchy.” She tilts her head to the side, smile absentmindedly soft. In the flickering light of the candles, the blues of her eyes are almost sapphire-dark in colour. “I suppose it’s a sign that I’m a real Queen now, after all?”

Right then, Mr. Possy lets out a sad squeak, claws scraping against Kenny’s skirt. With an easy movement, she scoops him up and cradles him against her chest, murmuring sweet nonsense against his tiny ears. On the other side of the table, Kyle swallows, finding it impossible to look away.

It’s odd, nursing a sense of familiarity as he watches Kenny rock her pet, offering him tiny scraps of meat.  
Warm and heavy in his stomach, it's familiar yet so very different. She  _is_  different, there is no denying that - sharper, smarter, her optimism worn just a little rough around the edges. But this  _is_ still the same girl who used to think giving rats to people was an acceptable method of comfort. The same girl who adopted every hungry stray and fed birds with every scrap she could get her hands on, nursing dreams to have an army of crows and rats one day at her disposal. The same girl whose quiet compassion embraced all those treated unfairly by a system they couldn’t hope to change. The same girl who used to pry her friends for dirty details without shame, regardless of the time and place.  
Once the thought had wriggled its way into his mind, it had been impossible to ignore the fragments of _her_ scattered all over the palace. The multitude of bird-feeders across the gardens, the hordes of crows nesting in the towers. The birds embroidered on her cloaks, the feathers decorating her dresses - gold, silver, black - despite the ominous superstitions they carried.

 _(Vermin princess_ , some had called her behind her back, in the safe refuge of silk drawn over mouths and lips pressed against burning ears. He remembers the fear in their eyes, the scorn in their voice. _Harbinger and tempter of ill fate_.)

Mr. Possy nuzzles his wet nose against her neck and Kenny bursts into giggles, doing her best to wriggle away from the ticklish attack. Turning his head, Kyle hides a helpless smile into his napkin.

Crows, rats, possums.  
Spirits only know why _that's_ the trait he finds oddly charming.

 

 

 

AN:

These chapters just keep getting longer...   
Special thanks to my dear friend N who flooded my inbox with swordfighting videos after I messaged them, no questions asked. I had [Lindsey Stirling's Brave Enough](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_kkIxQbAN-qa1-wrGMPezTnkKZCi71CMqc) on repeat whilst writing this chapter - I would very much recommend her music for writers or people who enjoy power walking. Thank you once more to the absolutely wonderful comments and the kudos on the last chapter - I appreciate them immensely and they helped me through a rough writing patch. 

 **Fantasy Fic Rec:** [A Staccato Beat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931481) by [panaceaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panaceaa/works)

A stunning writer that should be familiar to any K2 fan, pana's colourful language and sheer skill with emotional intricacies never fail to leave me breathless. (Plus she's just. Really really funny.) A Staccato Beat follows Princess Kenny to a ball, held between two Kingdoms at fragile peace. Whilst playing her role perfectly, she spots the King that has been plaguing her mind since the first time she saw him - and knows that finally, she had met her match.  
The characters are fantastic - a honey-tongued Princess whose cockiness hides smarts and experience, and a fiery, charismatic King, plagued by weariness. Interwoven with the political games is a sense of playfulness and reckless yearning for a connection. It's a beautiful take on the SOT universe where restraint and masks are second nature and Kings and Princesses sometimes only have seconds to fall in love. Plus there is  _slow dancing._  

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Any thoughts are super appreciated <3 If you're on Tumblr, [hit me up!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)  


	5. Heritage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tactical neck-biting is refused, colours are lost in translation, and no matter how life-changing your conversations might be, there is still no talking in the library.

 

“I am _not_ biting your neck, Kenny!”

Rolling onto her front, Kenny aims the full brunt of her pout in his direction. “Come ooooooon.” she cajoles. She adds in a flutter of her lashes, for good measure. Perched on the chair of her dresser, her Paladin continues to look unconvinced.  
She supposes that his very presence in her room, free of hunched shoulders and military stances, should already be celebrated. Years ago, in the beginning of their budding rapport, Butters had found it difficult to relax in her presence, even behind closed doors. He would lounge outside of her room for conversations, insisting that seeing the Queen in any state of undress (or distress) was simply unacceptable.  
Funny how it only took one evening of poor health, a skipped meal and a stuffy library to change that. In his panic to drag the unconscious Queen upstairs and into bed, Butters had forgotten his trepidations until the medic arrived, finding him in the middle of wrestling Kenny out of her corset. The following morning had been an exercise in awkwardness, hasty apologies and repeated assurances - but slowly, their professional relationship blossomed into a friendship they both cherished.  
Which left her with a rather obvious solution to the current predicament.

“I’m not asking you to _maul_ me and give me a hickey, Butters. Just a modest little bitemark will do.” Kenny insists. She pushes herself upright, thick shawl slipping off her shoulders. “People aren’t going to believe there is something going on without _some_ tangible evidence.”

“You are _royalty!”_ Butters reminds her, eyes wide and hands in the air. “People are shocked by all the implied ‘private time’ as it is!”

“It’s all been coincidental, though. Rumours of maids and enthusiastic writers.”

With a snort, her Paladin tilts his head to the side. “Well, gee - if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you seem awfully eager to make this act as _realistic_ as possible, my lady.”

“We both know what a woeful actor our dear King is, Butters.” Kenny feels the need to remind him. “I’m just trying to compensate accordingly. After all, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” With a grunt, she pushes herself to her feet and clambers to her wardrobe, hands sliding to her aching spine. All this running around from dawn till dusk was doing her back no favours. “Except in this case, I can’t bite my own neck, so - “

“My answer is still no.” Butters says firmly, leaning back in his seat. There’s a funny sort of smile dancing in his eyes. “If you want a mark, you go and ask King Kyle.”

Mid-motion, Kenny’s fingers slip, the ribbon in her braid tumbling down in messy waves. Suddenly, she’s very grateful to have her back to her friend. “Oh he’d give me a mark, alright. But broken noses don’t go well with my gowns, so…”

When she turns back around, she is greeted with the image of a slumped-over mess of a man, face buried in his hands.  

“...are you alright, Butters?”

“Yes.” comes the muffled reply. After a steady breath, he slowly lifts his head. “I was just remembering something Stan had said.”

“...something upsetting?”

“Quite.” A sigh rushes out of him, making his whole frame shudder. “He was just lamenting that it was...funny how some _very_ smart people could be so...so very stupid.”

\---

The fifth day had dawned later than scheduled, bringing heavy, sorrowful clouds and hasty winds. After breakfast, most guests sought refuge within the castle walls, eager to visit the heated baths in the basement before they got too crowded.

“Any news from Tweek?” Kenny asks as she waves goodbye to a giggling group of fauns. Idly, she makes a note to house them closer to the ground floor next time - climbing all those stairs with hooves must be a _nightmare_.  

“No letters from him personally.” Butters replies, brows furrowed with concern. “One of Wendy’s scouts did spot their banners about a day’s ride away, though.”

Which would mean they would arrive at the start of the sixth day - almost at the end of the Festival. A little strange for a clan who lived right near their borders, closer than their Elven allies.

“Keep me updated, please.” she says, careful to keep her voice cheerful. “I don’t want to ask the kitchen to start serving the bland dishes until Craig gets here. No need to make everyone else suffer in his absence.”

“Ah - speaking of which, Sir Christophe had been complaining that - “

“Queen Kenny?”

As they turn towards the familiar voice, she counts three gasps and two awed whispers around them. Out of habit, Kenny finds her gaze flickering over his form, lingering on the slope of his shoulders (hidden under crimson linen and heavy gold embroidery) before finding his eyes.

“Good morning, your Majesty.” she greets him, lips tugging into a smile. From the corner of her eyes, she can see sharpening ears and telescoping visions all around.

Kyle dips his head to mirror her. With his graceful posture and dewy skin, you would never know he was up debating the finer details of possum-raising into late hours of the night. “I was wondering if I could claim some of your time this afternoon, my lady.” Ignoring their audience, he closes the distance between them in three unhurried steps. “It’s been a while since I had the pleasure of seeing your library, and I’d love to get a tour of your new historical section.”

 _Smooth._  

“Of course. I’ll make arrangements and send for you in a few hours.” Kenny replies. With an idle twist of her hip, she prompts the ruffles of her skirt into a playful twirl, fingers reaching to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “I look forward to your verdict.”  

A warm glimmer sparks through Kyle’s eyes before they flutter shut, his body dipping forwards. Before she can realise his intentions, warm fingers are snaking around her wrist, pulling her hand just far enough to meet his lips.  
The kiss is gentle, and lasts the whole of two seconds. And yet, the skin on the back of her hand burns as he pulls back, words as sweet as his smile.

“I can hardly wait.”

And with that, he is gone, followed by a flutter of crimson cloak and a chorus of furious whispers.

Slowly, methodically, Kenny resumes her steps towards the courtyard, pointedly avoiding any eye contact with her Paladin. Her fingers twist into the folds of her skirt as she concentrates on suppressing a shiver.

Just when she thought she had finally found her footing, he bounds ahead, tipping her back off-balance with frustrating ease.  
_Hardly a development to complain about,_ she has to remind herself. Kyle’s growing motivation to prove her wrong about his acting would only help their cause. And besides - after today, there would only be two days left of this.  
Past the sudden spike in her heartbeat, a strange sense of discomfort lurks between her ribs, twisting with every carefully measured breath.

How foolish it was to think Kyle would need to get anywhere near her neck to sell the perfect illusion.

\---

Just as she is closing her door an hour later, a soft flutter of fabric alerts her to a new presence.

“Report.” Kenny says, twisting the key in the lock before turning to face the hooded messenger.

“Word from the general, your Majesty.” they murmur, hands clasped in front of them. “She asks that you and the King stay inside the castle today whenever possible.”

A disconcerting request. “Oh?”

“They are getting bolder.” comes the whispered explanation. “There are plans afoot, and the general thinks there are some where agents could be targeting you personally.”

The cold trickle of fear down her spine is depressingly familiar, leaving shivers and numbness in its wake. With a deliberate breath, Kenny nods.

“Alert the King’s guard to this too. The minute you know anything more, let me know.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”   

-

On average, the walk from stairs to library takes seven minutes - five if pressed for time and twenty when one is trying to avoid their meeting with a stone-faced scholar for as long as possible.  
And as it turns out, the same walk takes forty-seven minutes and counting when one is accompanied by an esteemed Elf King whom all guests simply _adore._

“Absolutely incredible, I tell you!” the duke opposite them repeats for the third time, gesticulating wildly to _really_ drive his point home. “I have never seen enchantments _that_ perfect in all my thirty years of attendance!”

Kyle bows his head, pride barely concealed beneath his polite demeanour. “My court magicians are the ones who deserve your praise, sir.”

“No need to be modest, your Majesty!” Grin wide, the duke turns to Kenny. “Did you know that our Elven friends celebrate the first day of spring every year, my lady? It’s magical splendour you couldn’t possibly imagine!”  

“I did, sir.” It’s no easy task to keep her smile sweet and voice light, but somehow, she manages. “I spent six years of my childhood in the Elf Kingdom.”

The reminder doesn’t deter the duke from his gushing, plying Kyle with more praises (and Kenny with more trivia she already knew) before bidding them goodbye. Well - the King gets a goodbye. Kenny receives a hasty nod right before the duke hurries off, departing in a whirling storm of silk and perfume.  
Hardly the first one to do so, too. The dispositions of the nobles that claimed their time had been quite capricious, their excitement immediately dampening to polite reservation once shifting their attention from Kyle to Kenny. The man before the duke - a sour-faced elf noble from the mountain kingdoms - had looked positively _terrified_ when noting the Queen’s presence, spluttering his excuses before fleeing.   

If Kenny were a petty person, she would perhaps question the borderline hostility and elitist behaviour _in her own home_ , all whilst happily partaking in _her hospitality.  
_But she is a Queen, and a good Queen is never petty.

They manage to take a whole four steps before the sound of heels interrupt the silence, accompanied by long chestnut hair and elegant green robes. Carefully closing the doors behind her, the Elven guest’s expression lights up upon spotting them.

“Baroness.” Kyle greets her readily, just as Kenny’s throat clenches with dread and recognition.

“My King.” she replies, hand sweeping to her chest as she dips into a bow. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again.”  

Her accent is sharp, reminding Kenny of blades striking against glass. Swiftly, she pulls Kyle into a conversation on obscure foreign affairs, all in rapid-fire Elvish.

“It was such a _relief_ to see a swift end to that whole _ugly_ affair.” she remarks, sniffing delicately. “When surrounded by the slow, outdated bureaucracy of our neighbours, it’s such a relief to remember that _our_ systems works as it should.”

A good Queen is never petty.  
Above all, a good Queen is always composed.

“Which is why we are all so _grateful_ for your presence, baroness.” Kenny replies before Kyle can say anything. The Elven words feel a little rusty on her tongue, but she doesn’t _care_. “You are the shining examples that can us guide away from our outdated, _primitive_ ways.”

Only a slight tremble of hands betrays the baroness’ shock. Tugging at her gloves, she nods, smile morphing into one of polite condescension. “One can only hope, my lady. Please excuse me.”

The last fifteen steps to the library go uninterrupted. The smell of paper and ink washes over her with comforting familiarity, the heavy doors cutting off the bustling noise of the castle. The ensuing silence makes her ears ring, heartbeat pulsing with the remnants of needle-sharp fury.  
She eventually notices Kyle’s attempts to claim her attention, the touch by her elbow snapping her back to reality.

“...Kenny?”

“Tell me one thing.” she asks suddenly, twisting out of his reach. “Is there something on my face?”

Green eyes blink twice, wide with confusion. “...besides your...face?”

“Is there something on my nose? Did I lose a tooth in my sleep? Did some Eldritch monstrosity spawn in the middle of my forehead? Or is there any other perfectly reasonable explanation why the respected Lady Baroness just regarded me like I was muck on her shoe?”

“Uh - “

“I gave her one of the nicest suites in the East Wing, had _all_ the pillow covers _and_ the bedsheets changed to that weird mint coloured silk she likes so much. I only assigned maids that speak fluent Elvish to look after her, as I know how _bothersome_ it is for her to speak Common. Not to mention that as of last month, her import company is the biggest supplier of cedar and pine oil in the whole kingdom, with barely any competition. And _still_ \- she cannot muster up the will to pretend she respects me for a _greeting_.”

She expects an uncomfortable expression, or even a reproach. What she doesn’t expect is a _chuckle_ \- half-swallowed and quickly muffled.

“...Which part of this exactly do you find _funny,_ your Majesty?” she asks, words slow and deliberate, eyes as cold as her tone. “Because I would _love_ to know.”

“No - it’s not that, it’s just - “ Hastily, Kyle takes a breath, gaze darting around to make sure no eavesdroppers lingered nearby. “...Bluntly put, she thinks you dress like a...lady of the night.”

_“...What?!”_

From the far end of the library, a sharp hiss cuts through the air - a wordless reminder to _keep their voices down._ Instinctively, they both duck their heads, chastised.

“My neckline starts at my collarbones and my skirt reaches _the floor._ ” Kenny hisses, voice barely a whisper. “How the _hell_ does that scream ‘lady of the night’?!”

“It’s not - it’s more - “ Kyle muffles a cough in his fist, voice still trembling despite his best efforts. “... _Traditionally,_ purple fabric - that shiny violet that you like to wear - is associated with the pleasure districts around our capital.” He lowers his hand, pink dusting his cheeks. “...you probably remember - those tall, four-storey buildings with the big purple curtains and the lace draped over the fences…? Where they burned incense at the gates and - “

“Where all the pretty ladies sold flowers.” Kenny supplies. Realisation floods her moments later. “...is _that_ why your mother never let us visit that part of the markets?!”

She recalls the ladies at the gates of the forbidden buildings with startling clarity, dripping in jewels and sporting coy smiles. She had always thought them stunning, timidly in awe of their glittery makeup and unwavering confidence - and of course, their excellent taste in colours.  

“Does the baroness _know_ that in the Human Kingdom, purple is a _royal colour?_ ” Kenny growls, spreading a protective hand over her bodice. “A lot of the local brothels are emblazoned with _red,_ but you don’t see us making assumptions about _you!_ ”

“I’m sure I don’t have to explain how judgemental the Elven nobility gets to _you_.” Kyle says, sounding profoundly tired. His gaze flickers away, betraying his hesitation. “There’s...also your hair.”

“My h - you know perfectly well that it’s been this colour since I was small!”

“It’s not _that_ \- again, _traditionally_ , this sort of hairstyle is popular with younger princesses. When Queens wear it, it’s seen as a sign of...trying to appear much, _much_ younger.” Teeth scrape against his lower lip, nose scrunching up with the motion. “Some elder nobles see it as...undignified and a little...desperate.”

For a long moment, Kenny finds herself speechless. Deciding just _what_ to process _first_ is a surprisingly hard decision.

“...I’ve had my hair in braids since it grew past my shoulders.” she rasps eventually, resisting the urge to grab at them. “All these years, you didn’t think _once_ to tell me all this?!”

“As if you’d let anyone tell you how to dress and what _not_ to do with your hair.” Kyle shoots back hotly, voice rising to meet hers. “I assumed you knew and just didn’t _care!_ ”  

_**“Shhhhh!”** _

The voice of the library’s unseen guardian cuts through the air again, louder and intensely vicious. They exchange a wide-eyed, guilty glance before Kenny motions towards the studies. Only when the doors click shut do they dare breathe again, still tense with anticipation. The sound is lost amidst the tall shelves, prompting a flurry of dust mites across the air between them.   

“...it’s been a long time since anyone told me I looked like a harlot.” Kenny whispers. Her confession startles a laugh out of Kyle.

“She is woman blind to anything outside her own little world.” His fingers idly adjust his crown, attention already affixed on the books. “Pay her no mind.”

His voice rings with clear dismissal at the baroness’ opinion. And yet, the words do little to ease the tension lurking under Kenny’s skin.

“...it wasn’t just her, though, was it?”

Fingers stilling on the spine of an encyclopedia, the King shoots her a confused look. “...pardon?”

“It wasn’t just her - none of them looked at me the way they looked at you.” The words taste like ash in her mouth, yet she cannot hold them at bay any longer. “It has been years - _years_ \- and nobles still tiptoe around me, unable to decide whether to trust me or not. As if they’re expecting me to suddenly lay waste to my own Kingdom, at any given moment!”

Slowly, methodically, Kyle’s expression morphs into something much more sombre. His fingers trace the gilded letters before he takes a step back, arms crossing over his chest.    

“...well.” he begins. Immediately, the alarm bells in Kenny’s head start to shriek.

_Don’t say it._

“They do have a reason to be wary, and you know that.”

_Don’t you fucking bring that up._

“...it was your decision, after all, that ultimately placed the Grand Wizard on the throne and let him loose on the kingdom for two years - ”

“ _Really_ , Kyle?” she snaps, cutting him short. “You _really_ want to bring that up?”

He doesn’t flinch under her glare, raising his chin defiantly. “It’s not something so easily disregarded, Kenny.”

“So I make one mistake - _one mistake_ right before my reign. A mistake I then spent _two years_ fixing, might I add - and no one will ever let me live it down? Despite everything I’ve done afterwards?”

“I think it’s hard to do so when most of us don’t understand _why._ ” The green of his gaze is startlingly sharp, its intensity practically burning through her. “Why would you ever trust someone like that with something _so important?_ You were just a year away from coronation - and yet, you entrusted _him_ to handle things in your absence! Some - some _random_ wizard, not even a member of the royal court! _Why?”_

“Because he was the first damn person to show a little faith in me!” She doesn’t realise how close they’ve gotten until her flailing fingers catch against the buttons of his coat. “...Because unlike everyone else at court, he didn’t think I was an Elven spy, or a disaster in the making!"

She had sat in meetings, day in and day out. She had nodded in all the right places, memorised all the right words and remembered all the faces. And yet, the cold reception had been relentless, barely masked under polite facades and clipped sentences. Wherever she stepped, the whispers followed, each speculation more stomach-churning than the last.

“Of course, in hindsight, I can see what a monumentally _stupid_ decision that was. But at that time, was I so wrong to want allies?”

“...But you _had_ allies!” Kyle argues. His shock is already gone, replaced by narrowed eyes and clenched fists. “You had the entire Elven Kingdom’s alliance - you had our tutors, my mother - “ His voice cracks for a split second, eyes flaring with an odd sort of intensity. “...you had me, a messenger away. Yet you chose _him_ over us all, and only came running when it all came crashing down.”

The expression on Kyle’s face is one that she is intimately familiar with - from the creases of his brow to the tight line of his lips, crowned by eyes that could set a forest aflame with a single glance. An expression of stubborn determination, promising no relief or escape until Kenny surrendered the answer he sought.

“...I couldn’t.” Somehow, her words come out mostly steady. A small part of her - a small, pathetic part of her that she despises more than she can express with words - revels in the relief the admission brings. “...I just couldn’t.”

Out of habit, her eyes slip towards the windows and the doors, tracing out the routes of escape. Even as her mind calculates the risks and rewards, her body remains stubbornly frozen, sentencing her to continue the conversation at hand. Even if it was a conversation much too overdue, and half a decade too late.

“This...this was exactly what your family - your Kingdom had spent six years training me for.” _All that time. All that effort._ “You were determined to make me into the best candidate for a Queen as possible, and this was the first step, right? The moment to prove that I _was._ ” Not only to the Human Kingdom, but to those who raised her as well. “This was just another test, wasn’t it? The biggest test of them all.”

There were many tests back in the Elven Kingdom - tests at the end of chapters covered, challenges in the training grounds. There was an assessment hidden at every dinner function, lurking behind the gleaming parade of glassware and cutlery.

“I couldn’t just come crawling back at the first sign of adversity. I know what your mother - what you thought of those kinds of rulers.”

 _Y_ _ellow-bellied, spineless excuses of rulers,_ they had called them, face tugged into sneers - princes and princesses who had all the time and opportunity, but wasted them all to cowardice and weak work ethic. Kenny can still recall the Queen’s words, enveloped in the warm light and cinnamon-scent of her personal study.

_“What is the most important thing you must always remember?”_

_“Above all, a good Queen is always composed.” Kenny recites, back straight and ankles crossed._

_Queen Sheila nods, pleased. “Rightly said.” Behind her, the rays of the setting sun dip through the window, lighting the colours of her study aflame. “It’s going to be a very busy month for you - formally introducing yourself to the court and picking out your advisers - as well as the one who will represent you until your coronation. No matter how hectic things get, you must always remember that.”_

_Kenny nods. Her tired spine protests at the motion, and she swiftly ignores it._

_“Remember - you are there to make a good impression. People want a good leader, but they want to know their voices will be heard. A good Queen always listens to the opinions of her advisers.”_

_Pen pausing above the paper, Kenny raises her head. “...What if the advisers don’t listen to me?”_

_“Well, dear. When it comes to important things, a good Queen knows how to make people see her point of view.” Sheila replies, smile twisting into something a little more devious. Like a lioness that caught the scent of her wounded prey. “Sometimes - in emergencies - that means not being afraid to use all your charm and smarts for persuasion.” She raises a hand, the crimson polish glinting in the light. “Just remember our battle cry - ”_

_“‘Never bow your head.’” Kenny echoes dutifully. Her confident smile wavers the moment Queen Sheila casts her eyes back on her book._

_How will she know if it’s an emergency, she wants to ask, the question burning the tip of her tongue. How can she be sure the situation is dire enough to justify giving others a little push to see her way?_  
_But the Queen is already flipping the page, and the last thing Kenny wants is to reveal her hesitation.  
So she adjust her grip on her pen and resumes writing._

“So I just kept trying. Again and again. Even when I felt like there was no one in this court that I could trust - not one person who really would support me, come my coronation.” Unable to keep still, she takes a step to the side, fingers itching for the scarf that always used to cover her mouth. “And maybe it’s on me and my abilities, but it was _hard._ ”

The memories rush her, unflinching in their clarity. She is a year away from coming of age, barely grown into the stride and confidence it takes to wear golden jewels and embroidered gowns. The kingdom she had only ever heard and read about is staring her down, with a thousand different expectations. Kevin and Karen had to stay behind for their own protection, lest they became targets of kidnapping and blackmail. For the first time in her life, she really and truly is alone - alone in a foreign place where everyone is all-too curious about her, but cared very little about what she had to say.  

“And maybe - maybe there was a little part of me that thought it was really unfair to make me do this on my own.” She is pacing now, wishing she had chosen a bigger room to retreat into. “I know you were off doing the very same thing, but you were _home_ , where the whole court knew you since birth, and was _eager_ for your coronation! You had Stan, and Bebe! I wasn’t even allowed to bring a general or an adviser!”

“...You know why.” Kyle’s voice is quieter, accompanied by a scuffling of boots against the floor. “...Ma didn’t want to make it seem as if we were trying to place our own people by your side. She didn’t want people throwing accusations of an Elven take-over, or of collusion. And - “

“And she wanted me to be the one choosing.” Kenny cuts in, eyes still fixed on the opposite side of the room. “I know.”

Outside the window, a thousand miles away, the bell tolls for the new hour.

“...It’s easy to see where I went wrong now. All I can say is that at the time, it seemed like the best decision.” She hears another step behind her, closer this time, and the invisible hand around her throat tightens its grip. “...It was presumptuous of me, I suppose, to expect you to just understand where my decisions came from.”

Fingers press against her arm, one by one. The touch is tentative, yet she can feel the heat of Kyle's skin burn through the fabric. Slowly, she turns to face him.

“...the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint anyone. To make your family feel like they wasted their time and efforts. To make the people of the Human Kingdom worry for their future. And to…”

 _To parade my insecurities and failures around in front of you - of all people._  

“...to prove to everyone I was an unworthy candidate for a Queen.” Swiftly, she fixes her gaze back on the window, Kyle’s stare much too heavy to hold. “...Not that it matters, as you ended up thinking so anyways, in the end.”

For a long moment, perfect silence surrounds them. As if on cue, Kyle’s grip tightens on her arm, air escaping his lungs in a sudden rush.

“I don’t think you are an unworthy Queen.”

Her expression must echo her disbelief, judging by the rapid rate his face flushes. “I mean - I think you could be a _better_ Queen, sure. But there is not one ruler I know that _couldn’t_ be better, myself included.” He huffs, rubbing a hasty hand over the back of his neck. “Your competency...frustrates me a lot, actually. Mostly because your priorities _baffle_ me sometimes and you really could stand to _listen more_ …but you make being a good ruler look so...effortless.”

Somehow, Kenny wrestles her tongue into obedience. “...I do?”

“Yes. I mean - “ Kyle coughs before clearing his throat, the sound awkward and stilted. It serves as an excellent distraction from her dangerously unsteady knees, as well as the roaring sound of her own pulse. “Your harvest numbers from the past year are some of the best ones I’ve ever seen.”

_Oh._

The laughter that escapes her is equal parts hysteria and pure _delight_. Light-headed and swaying on her feet, Kenny grabs at Kyle’s coat.

“That is the most scandalous thing anyone has ever said to me.” she breathes, eyes wide. “Tell me more.”

The splutter, she expects (and delights in). The pursed lips and thoughtful crinkle between the eyes, she does not.

“...the...Kingdom’s increase in...grain production over the past twelve months has been nothing short of amazing?”

 _“Oh.”_ she sighs, tipping her head back with _feeling._

“...especially considering the unpredictable weather and surge in rodent numbers.”

“Yes - “ She runs her free fingers up her neck, teeth snagging her lower lip in a particularly wanton manner. “ _Oh yes -_ “

_“Kenny!”_

“Keep going! Talk dirty to me, your Majesty!”

\---

When Butters finds them, it’s an hour shy of dinner and they’re engrossed in debate, a dozen volumes spread across the table between them.

“Look, ancient laws this and tradition _that_ , the Princess was clearly a better candidate for the throne.”

“She used to be a _pirate!_ ” Kyle contests, voice pitched in disbelief. “She set her brother’s ships _on fire!”_

“The best strategy, all things considered. Not to mention that - Butters!”

The Paladin dips his head, smile barely concealed. “...pardon the intrusion, your Majesties. I just need Queen Kenny’s approval on an urgent set of plans.”

Stilling, Kenny leans close, voice dropping to a whisper. “Is it Wendy - ?”

“Oh, no.” Butters reassures her quickly, motioning to the scroll tucked under his arm. “It’s about the Elven cultural centre.”

The sweet words hit her like a bucket of ice water, drenching her in cold dread. To her left, Kyle perks up with interest, eyes widening as Butters happily continues.

“The architects would like to know what you think of the roof, and whether they should make more space for the glass house in the gardens - “

“ _Thank you,_ Paladin Stotch!” she practically shouts, trying her best not to glare. “Would you please leave them in my quarters? I’ll review it as soon as possible.”

With a pleased nod, the Paladin scampers off, spring in his step. Kenny reaches for the nearest book at hand, all-too-aware of the other’s gaze on her.

“...Is this a new development?”

“Yes. No. I - “ The novel slips out of her shaky grasp, landing on the table with a noise that makes her flinch. “...it’s been in the plans since we started rebuilding the capitol after the battles.”

Kyle’s hands dip into view, placing a book on top of hers. “So...since the beginning of your reign.”

Awe and a strange sort of smugness twist together in his voice, prompting her to whip her head up. “Don’t go drawing conclusions! It was just _tiresome_ how those awful and frankly _idiotic_ assumptions about elves were still rampant in the Kingdom, made only worse by Cartman’s time on the throne. About how they _eat children_ and kill people over incorrectly placed forks.” she bristles, jabbing a finger in his direction. “And it didn’t help that most people in this Kingdom either encounter Elven soldiers or nobles, neither of which give the best impression or experience of the culture and the - “

Like emeralds in the sun, Kyle’s eyes glitter, stealing her breath and wiping her mind clean of coherent thought. As he places another book on the pile, their fingers brush.

“Wipe that grin off your face.” she manages to huff before dropping her gaze back to the task at hand.

“Right away.”

Even without a glance, Kenny can hear the delighted lie in his voice.

  


AN:

Things I love writing: Slow burn romance  
Things that make my life needlessly complicated: Pacing of slow burn romance

As always, thank you very much for the lovely words on the last chapter <3 They mean the world to me.  

 **Fantasy Fic Rec:[Traitor of Zaron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15755643/chapters/36642723)** by [ProdigyBlood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdigyBlood/pseuds/ProdigyBlood)

Love! Betrayal! Intrigue!  _Heart-wrenching introspection!_ An really awesome deep-dive into SOT lore! _Traitor of Zaron_ has it all! A wonderful collection of moments, this fic takes place in the aftermath of the fall-out between the Elf King and the Princess. Torn between duty, ambition and unexpected feelings, they both try to navigate through the ruins of love and betrayal.

 _Traitor_ is one of those fics that you cannot help but keep reading on, no matter how late at night it is, eager to see how things became as they are, and just where they will go. Prodigy has a wonderful gift for raw, visceral feelings, alongside great chemistry and dialogue. Plus, getting to crawl inside Princess Kenny's mind in her POV chapters is always a treat.

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Any thoughts are super appreciated <3 If you're on Tumblr, [hit me up!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)  


	6. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which thieves make useless husbands, a Queen is reminded of her extremely overdue book loans and a King - amidst his reminiscence of childhood - remembers something very important.

“He’s _gone,_ Kenny! He ran off and _joined them!”_

The General’s door is nowhere thick enough to muffle the agitated exclamations. The owner of the voice drops his heavy crossbow onto the table just as Kyle and Stan step inside, shaky and clearly upset. Opposite him, the Queen’s brows furrow into a frown.

“Tweek, slow down, please.” Disregarding the dangerous jitters of Tweek’s hands and the terribly sharp dagger dangling off his belt, she reaches to grasp his arms. “Start from the beginning.”

Over the slope of a shaking shoulder, her eyes meet Kyle’s. They share a quick look before a harried groan erupts from their newest guest, followed by storm of curses. Just as Kenny leans closer, Kyle finds himself taking a tactical step back.  

It’s not that he dislikes Tweek. He respects the Barbarian King (Leader? Chief? The finer details of the Barbarian government were still closely-guarded secrets to most) and his impressive achievements, as well as his fierce loyalty. But all the same, he finds the young man rather...disconcerting - with his permanent piercing stare, brazen tattoos and apparent contempt for shirts. There was something terrifying about the way Tweek’s body swung between constant motion and unnatural stillness - about his rapidfire speech and ludicrous theories, every theoretical scenario somehow turning into a disaster on his mind.  
Overall, he just wasn’t the kind of person Kyle would feel inclined to approach - to try and befriend. But of course, the more unsettling - _unusual_ \-  the person, the creature, the _thing_ was, the more enthused Kenny was to approach them.  
(That and _more._ Kyle was never going to be able to look at dragons the same way again.)

 “Like I - _argh!_ \- told you, Craig’s _gone!”_ the Barbarian exclaims. His fingers claw through his hair, leaving it in disarray. “He’d been acting weird ever since we saw those - _nghh_ \- hooded strangers with their weird flyers in the marketplace! Completely fixated!” His knife makes a sudden appearance, tossed between shaky hands carelessly. “He was saying that this would be such a - _nghh_ \- _great opportunity_ and an easy payday. I told him that it was a _stupid_ idea and we shouldn’t - _argh!_ \- get involved at all!” Without warning, he slams the dagger on the table before tugging at his pocket. “And then, the day we’re supposed to depart for the Festival, I wake up to find _this_!”

It takes a moment for Kyle to decipher the words written on the note, vibrating with its owner’s barely concealed rage. The message is surprisingly succinct, letters cramped and barely legible.  

**Be Back Later.**

“...eloquent.” Kenny remarks. She looks torn between confused and carefully amused, lip held firmly hostage between her teeth. “...and you’re sure _that’s_ where he went?”

“His trail led back to the marketplace, and several - _nghh_ \- witnesses confirmed he talked to the weird hooded people!” comes the tense reply, accompanied by aggressive crinkling as he crumples the note. “Right before riding off with them!”

Kenny’s lips press into a thin line, the humour bleeding out of her expression. Behind her, Wendy and Bebe share a sharp look. “...he did leave a message, though. Surely that means he definitely plans on returning?”

“You don’t _get it,_ Kenny!” Tweek hisses, jagged teeth flashing with each exclamation. “What if they actually succeed?! What if they - _argh!_ \- go ahead with their crazy schemes and end up hurting either one of you - and Craig gets implicated alongside them?! Then you’ll _have_ to put him on trial, and I’ll _have_ to choose between my allies and my husband!” His fingers find purchase in his hair, eyes widening with the horror of a thousand awful possibilities. “Oh Gods, I’ll _have_ to attack you in retaliation - and that’s going to lead to _war_ and all-out _invasion_ and - “

“If I may, my lord - “ Wendy’s voice interrupts, miraculously rising above the hysteria. “Please rest assured that getting manipulated into a conflict with the Barbarians is the last thing we intend to do.”  

“Our schedule is pretty full until the Harvest festival next Autumn.” Bebe supplies, smile wonderfully chipper. “No spare time at all for a last-minute invasion.”

The words do little to assure Tweek. “They need to be stopped.” he says, frame shaken by a sudden twitch. “I _need_ to get him _back_.”

“As I’ve been saying, we have a plan, and we have it under control.” Kenny cuts in smoothly, reaching to lay a careful hand on Tweek’s shoulder. “Why don’t you share what you know with the generals so they can catch you up, and work Craig’s retrieval into the plans with you?”

Tweek’s nod is short before he turns to face Wendy, eyes glazed and distracted. Kyle waits until the Barbarian’s attention is focused on the generals before approaching Kenny, voice barely a murmur once he’s close enough.

“Should we put a hit out on him?”

He expects a tense nod, accompanied by a regretful frown. To his surprise, the Queen is quick to shake her head.

“Let’s see what information Wendy can get out of him - and then weigh our options.” she whispers back, fingers idly twisting at her necklace. “I’d rather leave putting a bounty on Craig as a last resort.”

“...I see.” He spares a quick glance towards Tweek, taking in the lack of conviction from his every move. “Are you certain?”

Kenny’s eyes follow Kyle’s, nails tapping against the amethyst pendant dangling between the pearls of her choker. “...I only know Craig as well as he allowed me to. Which is...not a lot. But I’m certain of the ridiculous, boundless amount of love he holds for Tweek.” There’s a strange sort of softness to her tone, an unshakeable conviction behind her words. “He wouldn’t do something like this - anything that would hurt his husband - without a reason, or at least a motive.” She drops her gaze just as she withdraws her hand, allowing the jewels to tumble free. When their eyes meet again, her expression is one of determination. “...I just want to hope there’s a chance to resolve all this.”

Warmth thrums through his veins, sweet and intoxicating. His lips tug into a smile, unable to help the teasing tone that slips into his voice. “Who are you and what have you done to our forever-pragmatic Queen?”

A sharp elbow presses against his arm as sky-blue eyes roll at him, crinkled and surprisingly unguarded.   

“Maybe I’m just a romantic at heart.”

There’s a blissful second for her words to sink in. And then there’s Wendy’s voice, cutting through the air, accompanied by Bebe’s embellishments and sharp footsteps across the stone floor. With a blink of a perfectly outlined eye, Kenny turns to face them, queenly mask slipping seamlessly in place.

\---

“...You know, I can’t help being surprised every time I see Tweek.” Stan confesses a few hours later. They’re leaning against the balcony overlooking the gardens, hands sticky with the peach tart served at the end of the meeting. “I’m constantly expecting the guy to collapse under all that pressure.”

Kyle’s snort is loud and inelegant. The breeze ruffles through his curls as he rests both elbows on smooth stone, idly licking his fingers clean. His mother would be horrified. “He could power a village with all that nervous energy.”  

His knight sniggers at the mental image, shaking his head. “Right? It’s amazing how Wendy found a way to navigate through so many doomsday theories.”

Like clockwork, his expression softens at the mention of the general’s name. It prompts Kyle’s shoulders to stiffen, the sweet taste turning metallic in his mouth. Silently, he counts to three before turning to his friend.

“...Stan, I actually have something I need to tell you.” Despite his best efforts, his voice comes out as wary and already apologetic. “The other night, coming back from the training grounds, I went into a room I wasn’t supposed to and - Wendy was there. As was Bebe. And they - “

He trails off. Stan’s stare is long and blank before he snorts.

“She forgot to lock the door, didn’t she?” he asks, tilting his head. “It’s a wonder her antics don’t give Wendy a heart attack.”

For a long moment, Kyle can only stare, slack-jawed. “You - _you knew?”_

“I do have other friends besides you, Kyle.” comes the wry response, accompanied by a small smile. “I knew Bebe was planning to make her move.”

“...and you told her to, what, just go on ahead? I thought...I thought you really took a shine to her!”

“I did - I _do_. But...in this case, I had to be honest with myself - and with Bebe too.” Calloused fingers drum along the balcony before Stan shifts, moving to cross his arms. “And I know I’m hardly as...adaptable as she is in the matters of the heart.”

The wind sweeps through, carrying the scent of magnolias from the gardens below. It tugs at dangling sleeves and fluttering capes before sailing up to the clouds, drawing a faint shadow over Stan’s profile.

“If - if I pursued Wendy - courted her properly and she happened to reciprocate my feelings...having to return home in just a few days would be awful. Knowing that she feels the same way, separated by all that distance…” He bites his lip, expression twisting. “I couldn’t bare it. But my job - my life is back home, and hers is here.”

The air escapes Kyle’s lungs in a steady rush, the confession catching him by surprise. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “...you weren’t in any hurry to pursue her, were you?”

This time, Stan’s smile is sheepish. There’s a hint of sadness lurking in his eyes as he casts his gaze in the distance.

“It’s not...ideal. And you know how well I deal with rejection.” he quips, lip twitching at his King’s involuntary snort. _Understatement of the century._ “But I’m happy we got to spend this time together, nausea and circumstances aside. And I hope they end up happy, whatever happens.”

Brave words, accompanied by a brave face. Kyle lets his eyes linger on the tight curve of his shoulders, on the soft, honest smile stretching across his oldest friend’s face and quickly abandons the half-formed advice lingering on his tongue.

“...You hadn’t had a chance to enjoy the Festival yet, have you?” He doesn’t wait for Stan to confirm what he already knows, hands motioning towards the distance. “Go on. I’ll be fine on my own for a few hours.”

Stan’s eyes light up before he splutters, brows furrowing into a frown. “But - “

“I was just going to go practice some spells in the gardens anyways. I promise I’ll stay put.” He can’t quite hold back his snigger at Stan’s torn expression, using his magic to conjure up a small gust of wind to tug at his knight’s cape. “ _Go._ That’s an order.”  

\---

By the time Kyle makes it down to the gardens - Stan finally reassured and released into the festivities - it’s late into the afternoon. The sound of the breeze echoes through the trees, the grounds empty - save for the stray peacocks, pecking away at the rosebushes with righteous indignation.

 _(“How did_ **_they_ ** _get here?” he had asked Kenny upon his first visit, incredulity overwhelming every other emotion he harboured. “This - this is kingdoms away from their natural habitat. Peacocks are_ **_not_ ** _supposed to be here!”_

 _“I know.” she had replied, expression one of tired acceptance. “_ **_They_ ** _know. They just really don’t care.”)_  

Choosing a spot far away from the misguided birds, Kyle moves to sit on the grass. Straightening his spine, he rests both hands on his knees. After one last cursory glance, he allows his eyes to flutter shut. Warmth blooms under his skin as Kyle reaches for his magic, guiding it to curl around his body in a protective cocoon. All at once, the ever-present noises and scents of the garden fade away, replaced by the sound of his own breathing.

For the first time in days, he is surrounded by perfect silence.

He allows himself a moment of indulgence, posture slacking as the air rushes from his lungs with a deep sigh.  
There are almost too many thoughts and feelings for his body to contain, a mere few hours barely enough to begin digesting them all. Worry over potential betrayal from his allies gnaws at his mind with urgency - and yet, Kyle cannot focus on it at all, thoughts stubbornly drifting to the events at the library. Warmth curls around his heart with frightening familiarity each time, impatient for his acknowledgement.  
Where does one even begin acknowledging a revelation - a misunderstanding that has hounded him for years?

Once again, Kyle finds himself missing his own palace and his own gardens, their its sprawling canopies and thousand-year-old trees with mossy barks and gnarled roots. There was something about their fragrant, ever-present shade that always set his mind at ease - something he sorely needed right now.  
Slowly, deliberately, he takes a deep breath. Fingers pressing against the grass, he allows his thoughts to wander where they wished, skin tingling as his magic ripples through him in familiar waves.

Has it really been thirteen years since he first met Kenny?

-

The McCormick siblings arrived in the Elven Kingdom three days before the first day of spring.  
Kyle will forever remember the day, as it was the day he was supposed to go relic-hunting in the forest - a reward painstakingly earned from his tutors’ praises. But mere hours before their scheduled departure, a messenger had burst through the door - and the castle had promptly descended into chaos.

 _Scuffing the toe of his boot along the carpet, Kyle bites back the urge to scowl. An arm’s reach away, the Human Kingdom’s messenger sweeps past and the young prince imagines setting his robes alight once again.  
__It’s not fair to blame the man for doing his job. He knows this. But it doesn’t change the fact that he had been so_ **_close_ ** _\- bags packed, maps annotated, pockets stuffed full of hastily snatched cookies. And now, instead of exploring the ruins of an ancient temple, he has to sit besides his parents in the throne room, the heavy weight of his crown tugging at his hair with every move.  
__Beside him, Ike squirms, fingers fiddling with the stiff sleeves of his ceremonial robe. With all the self-righteousness of an elder sibling who has already learned to endure the discomfort, Kyle reaches across to smack his arm._

_Just ask his brother opens his mouth to complain, the doors creak open. Silence falls over the crowd, the shuffling of boots echoing across the room as the messenger leads three children inside. With a grand sweep of her veil, Queen Sheila moves to stand once her guests stumble to a halt in front of her throne._

_“I’d like to welcome you and your siblings to our Kingdom, Prince McCormick.”_

_Kyle turns his gaze on the boy just in time to see the twitch of his eye, lips pressed together in an unhappy line. Regardless, he bows his head, voice scratchy and accent strange. “Thank you, your Majesty.”_

_The low baritone takes him by surprise, his voice older than his appearance. He is the tallest out of the three, broad-shouldered and scruffy-haired. The messenger clearly tried his best to hurriedly make the young man presentable - but there was not much he could do about his stubble, the bandage across his eyebrow or his mud-stained, frayed clothes. If Kyle squints, he can see the outline of his big toe through the hole in his shoe._

_A pinch on the back of his hand snaps him back to reality, just as Ike leans closer._

_“Why do they all look so sick?”_

_His voice - although barely a whisper - still rings much too loud, prompting Kyle to shush him immediately. But upon second glance, his brother’s point is impossible to ignore - as is the sickly, greenish tint to the McCormicks’ skin, almost ashen. Trying his best to be inconspicuous, Kyle leans forwards for a better look._

_The eldest and the youngest both sport pointed ears, the latter’s mostly covered by messy brown hair. He would be quick to label them as elves - if wasn’t for the curve of tusk-like fangs resting on their lower lips. He cannot make out any of the third sibling’s features, obscured by their thick hood and stained scarf wrapped over their lower face. Only their eyes are visible - unnaturally bright in colour and chillingly sharp._ _Just as he squints, his mother clears her throat._

_“We are truly sorry that we couldn’t reach you sooner.” she says, voice ringing with genuine regret. “But I can promise you that from now, we will ensure you regain your rightful places.”_

_Kyle thinks the prince’s expression darkens even further, his shoulders stiffening under his robes. Behind him, his little sister clutches onto his sleeve tighter, eyes wet with obvious trepidation._

_“That - you don’t need to do that, your Maje - “_

_“Nonsense.” the Queen interrupts, voice firm. Her expression is one Kyle knows very well - one that follows an unpleasant decision that she always insists is for his own good. “It’s the least we can do for the true heirs to the Human Kingdom’s throne.”_

-

_That night, Kyle cannot sleep._

_Every time he closes his eyes, the events of the day replay in his mind’s eye, lingering on details that only chase sleep further. After his fourth unsuccessful attempt, he rolls out of bed with a frustrated groan.  
_ _He needs air.  
_ _The corridors of the palace are eerily silent, bathed in the deep indigos of midnight. The crimson carpets do a good job of muffling his footsteps, coarse against the bare skin of his feet. He is a step away from the stairs when an irritated sigh catches his attention._

_“I still don’t understand why you decided to take those three in.”_

_His father’s voice - low and displeased - makes him freeze in his tracks. Slowly, Kyle turns towards the gilded doors of his parents’ bedroom, cracked open just an inch._

_“We have talked about this a dozen times already, Gerald. I don’t know what has you so confused.” comes his mother’s reply, equally as terse. “They are_ **_orphans_** _.”_

_“Yes, yes, it’s all very tragic - but I don’t understand why you insisted on claiming responsibility for them.” he shoots back. “In front of the entire court, too!”_

_“Their Queen mother died - was_ ** _murdered_** _\- almost a decade ago and we only found out about her children_ ** _now_** _!” Something slams onto a desk, followed by an aggressive scrape of a chair. “Don’t you think that reflects just a little bad on us?”_

_“But this is a logistical nightmare now!” his father cries. Kyle can picture what his expression must look like, brows furrowed and hands thrown in the air. “Their mother was probably just months away from being dethroned! If you can even call her a Queen. She and the elves who partook in her murder are not even under our jurisdiction - they all refused to be associated with the Kingdom!”_

_He pauses for breath and Kyle finds himself creeping closer, cheek practically pressed against the door._

_“Not to mention that after the massacre, the humans took over their territory.” his father continues. His voice dips with disdain, like it always does when the conversation turns to humans. “Do you think they’ll welcome an elven ruler with open arms after all this time? Especially ones that aren’t even_ **_proper_ ** _elves but...disfigured reminders of some misguided love affair?”_

 _His mother suddenly clicks her tongue, and Kyle ducks his head on instinct. “_ ** _You’re_ ** _the one making it complicated, Gerald. They’re the direct descendants of the royal family who ruled that land. Thus, they are the ones who have claim over it. End of story.” Her tone leaves no room for debate. “A little magic, and they’ll look like humans in no time.”_

 _“And what_ **_worthy_ ** _heirs.” his father grumbles. Heavy steps echo across the room, his voice getting louder as he moves uncomfortably close to the door. “All sent away as soon as they were born for ‘safety’, raised in some backwater little village by a couple of drunks! And_ **_humans_ ** _to boot. They probably grabbed the first people off the street who would foster three foreign, halfblood refugees and called it a day.” From where he’s crouching, Kyle can just about make out a tense shoulder and a clenched fist. “The eldest one doesn’t even_ **_want_ ** _the crown! He should be overjoyed or grateful at the very least, but he refuses to see reason!”_

_Kyle sees a flutter of red, a brush sweeping through his mother’s hair. “So we ask the second eldest.”_

_“...the princess? Sheila, be serious. It’ll be a miracle for the humans to accept a non-human as their ruler, let alone a Queen.” Fingers unclench as his father walks across the room and out of his narrow field of vision. “That, and she’s barely old enough. She must be Kyle’s age, at the most.”_

_“Which gives us six whole years to make sure she becomes a worthy heir to the throne.” With quick, practiced movements, his mother finishes brushing the tangles out of her hair, expression one of impatience. “It’s actually a better choice than a prince so close to adulthood, if you think about it.”_

_“...still a dangerous bargain.” A creak of the mattress accompanies his father’s grumbles, displeased and uncertain. “That girl turns out to be a doormat or a tyrant, the humans will be quick to  accuse us of trying to sabotage their Kingdom.”_

_Whatever his mother says in response is lost to the icy terror that accompanies the hands suddenly grabbing at his arm.  
_ _By some miracle, he doesn’t scream. Fingertips already smouldering with hasty magic, Kyle whips around, stumbling when he recognises the attacker as his brother._

_“What are you doing out here?!” he mouths furiously, heartbeat thunderous in his ears._

_“The demon under my bed is scratching the floor again!” Ike whispers, eyes wide and grip iron-clad. “Make it go away!”_

_Behind the doors, a chair scrapes across the floor again. Without thinking, Kyle grabs Ike’s hand and drags him back towards their rooms, only pausing to breathe when his lungs start to burn in protest._

\--- 

_They’re formally introduced a few days later - and just like that, the McCormicks become a constant in his life._

_Kevin is soon a fixture in the stables and the gardens, quietly studying the animals and plants whilst hiding from the Queen’s advisers. Karen joins Ike’s classes and training sessions, tiny face scrubbed pink and scruffy hair pulled into twin pigtails. And Kenny…  
_ _Kenny appears in his classes about history and literature, clutching heavy tomes and battered dictionaries. An embroidered linen dress replaced her old hooded coat, long-sleeved and high-collared. The scarf, however, remained._

_Her presence proved to be extremely distracting at first, her quiet concentration notwithstanding. Despite his best efforts, he found himself sneaking glances in her direction constantly - at her white-knuckled grip on her pencil, at the newly uncovered mass of golden blonde hair, barely brushing her chin. Strangely, Kenny remained silent through all their shared lessons, eyes rarely leaving her books. The tutors never challenged this, never harassed her to contribute - leaving him confused until the day he caught a snippet of conversation, hidden in the bushes of the gardens._

_"Spirits, I don’t know what the late Queen mother of the McCormick princess was thinking.” their literature teacher huffed, exasperated. “Almost a teenager and she barely speaks any Elven! And her spelling in Common is absolutely atrocious! She would be better suited taking lessons with the younger prince instead, but_ **_no_** _,_ _Queen Sheila_ **_insisted_** _.”  
__The history teachers hums in sympathy, conversation fading into incoherence as their steps carry them away - leaving Kyle with whirling thoughts._

_The next day, he watches her again. He watches her - her tense frown, the tight arch of her spine, the intensity of her gaze - and he cannot help but pity her.  
_

_Pity is easier to digest than his near-morbid curiosity that he can never quite suppress - about what her face looks like, about how her voice must sound like, about_ **_why_ ** _exactly she chooses not to speak to him. Kyle knows she isn’t mute - he knows Kenny talks to her siblings, knows she_ **_must_ ** _answer to his mother’s questions when she tutors her in private.  
__Pity is easier to digest than the utter frustration at the knowledge that it’s a deliberate choice not to answer any of his questions, all attempts met with a guarded stare, gaze piercing and eyes unnaturally blue. Frustration at her apathy in face of his anger, his annoyance. She knows her silence upsets him, and she doesn’t_ **_care_** _._

  _It’s no secret to Kyle that some people are simply not his fans. He sees the irritated curl on maids’ lips when he trails inside from training, fingers sooty and clothes covered in mud. He knows which tutors find him infuriating, stubborn, loud (or in his swordsmaster’s case, completely incompetent). He knows which children greet his arrival with pained groans and rolled eyes, already dreading his detailed rules and particular requests.  
__But also knows that he just needs to raise his voice, and most of the time, he gets what he wants - be it respect (begrudging respect) and admission to do things his way. He is, after all, a prince - the heir to the Kingdom, and there are consequences to making him unhappy._

  _But Kenny - with her hidden face and sharp silence -  
__She knows exactly who he is, and doesn’t care._

\---

“Our gardeners will refuse to let you leave, come the end of the Festival.”

Startled, Kyle’s eyes snap open just in time to catch the Queen’s wave, fingers lingering inches away from his barrier. She has swapped her dress for a black hunting robe that brushed her knees, embroidered with a crow motif in gunmetal thread. Her hair sits in two braided buns, coiled on top of her head, the sapphires of her earrings matching the glittering of her eyes.

Impeccable in her timing, as always.

“They did always have an eye for talent.” he replies, allowing his smirk to speak for itself. He waves the barrier away with a flick of a wrist, reaching up to make sure his crown still sat straight. “Are the Barbarian guests all settled in those...wooden cabin quarters with no roofs that they insist on every time?”

“They are - happy as can be. And then, on my way back, I got caught by our dear esteemed Lord Garrison.” The haunted look in her eyes is enough to make Kyle wince, the memory of the lord’s voice already making him cringe. “Who then _insisted_ I take a walk with him before _very casually_ bringing up his very available, very virile nephews.”

“...urgh.”

“In excruciating detail.”

_“Urgh.”_

Kenny echoes the sentiment, dragging both hands down her face. “I cannot _wait_ until I’m considered too old to be an attractive catch, and people stop trying to sell me suitors.”

An odd thing to be celebrating already. “You’re not even thirty yet.”

“So I only have a few years left as an eligible bride, correct?” the Queen croons, smile sardonic. Before Kyle can reply, she’s already moving to take a seat, smoothing her skirt across the grass. “What had you so deep in thought?”

Her nails gleam with purple polish, catching the sun with every movement. He finds it hard to drag his gaze away. “...I was thinking back to when we first met.“ he confesses, swallowing the strain in his voice. ”...these last few days have made me a little...prone to nostalgia.”   

Her response is a little more than a hum, encased in lengthy silence. Her fingers twist where her braids would usually dangle, a barely-concealed nervous gesture. Quickly, Kyle makes a show of leaning closer.

“...which reminded me, actually - you never returned my book.”

“Your - ah!” Recognition flashes across cornflower eyes, accompanied by a devious smirk. “I think you’re mistaken. That was a _gift._ ”

“It was a _first edition_ copy of the very first _Kingdom Come_ novel!”

“And you were _very_ eager to impress me.” 

-

_The princess is staring._

_Caught up in the high-speed chase between the peacekeeper and the corrupt guards, Kyle had been completely lost to the world. Only when pausing for a breath at the end of the chapter does he register the familiar burn on the back of his neck. Their eyes meet for a split second before Kenny whips her gaze away, fixing it back on the grammar exercises in her lap.  
_

_...huh._

_He chalks it up to coincidence at first - to wishful thinking, the traitorous voice in his head whispers. But after the fourth instance - of curious glances, of careful shuffling, of pencils dropping repeatedly - he cannot ignore it any further.  
_ _She practically jumps in surprise when he takes a seat next to her._

_“Do you want to have a look?” His mother had repeatedly sworn him to only talk to the McCormicks in Elven, to aid them quicker into fluidity. But as the princess turns her wary gaze his way - composure frayed at the edges and eyes framed by dark smudges - Kyle finds himself switching to Common without much thought. “I want to finish reading it first, but you can borrow it after I’m done.”_

_Slowly, Kenny glances at the offered novel. Sky-blue eyes gleam with unexpected vigour, taking in the elaborate illustrations before she mumbles a reply, quiet words rendered incoherent by her scarf._

_“...what?”_

_Shifting in her seat, Kenny’s fingers twist in her skirt before she repeats herself._

_“It’ll take me a long time to read that.” Her voice, soft and silvery, is very different to what Kyle had been expecting. “Elven is...difficult. The conjugation is unfair.”_

_He can only nod, hiding a cringe as he glances down at the novel. Even he struggled with the elaborate prose at times. Unaware of his thoughts, Kenny’s eyes continue to trace across the page, lighting up with sudden recognition._

_“Oh, I know that word.” she says, pointing to a particularly colourful sentence littered with swear words. “Why are they telling someone to deep-throat a cactus?”_

_Kyle cannot quite help the snort that slips free, the crude words ringing very strange in such a sweet voice. “...He, uh...just fell through a bunch of spiky branches, got snagged by a squirrel and landed in a puddle. He’s a little annoyed.”_

_An odd sound escapes the princess, eyebrow quirking as she shoots him a look._

_“Is_ **_that_ ** _what this book is about? Falling off high places and swearing?”_

_Despite the tense line of her shoulders and muffled words, there’s genuine curiosity in her voice. Her attention - tentative but undivided - sends a thrill down his spine, mingling with the familiar fire that accompanies every opportunity to talk about his favourite books._

_By the time he’s finished his praises about the characters and their very first adventure, Kenny’s excitement is palpable. She leans closer, fingers sprawled across the pages._

_“Tell me more.”_

- 

“I think you are prone to a selective memory when the mood strikes you, Kenny.”

Her chuckle is low and deep, the embroidered feathers glinting on her cloak with every movement. “I think you’re the last person who should be pointing fingers about selective memories, my King.”

- 

_“You shouldn’t make friends with crows.”_

_Kenny only grins, scattering another handful of crumbs towards the waiting birds - remains of a pastry saved from breakfast, no doubt._

_“That’s what they always said back home too.” she says. One crow hops closer to her knee, eyes expectant. “Dangerous, dirty, crafty little birds. They will steal your secrets first, and then go for your jewels.”_

_“Magpies are the ones who steal jewels.” Kyle corrects her, eyeing them both suspiciously. “Crows peck your eyes out.”_

_The bird makes a rueful noise, as if protesting his declaration. It gets a giggle and a particularly tasty morsel as a reward._

_“And how is that a bad thing, exactly? A spare eye or two is always in demand.” Her tone is casual, as if talking about socks or extra sets of keys. “I'll befriend them, gather all the eyes they peck out, and sell them!”_

_“That is_ **_disgusting,_ ** _Kenny.”_

_He only gets a smirk in response, expression pointedly un-princess-like in its morbid glee. It’s an expression that would raise every hair on his mother’s head, should she witness it. It’s short lived, however, shuttering as she turns her attention back on the birds._

_“...The roof of our house was always covered with crows. On sunny days, you could barely see the tiles. Mom complained about the mess something fierce but she always threw them scraps.” Fingers pluck at her scarf, longing swirling in her eyes before she tugs the fabric over her nose. Luckily, deciphering her words is an easy task by now. “I wonder...if any of these are the same crows.”_

_The morsel disappears in the crow’s beak, feathers ruffling with glee. It croons, and Kyle recalls Kenny’s unsteady hands, placing a wrinkled envelope on top of a basket before handing it off to the kind-faced messenger. Remembers her hunched profile at the stables, sandwiched between Karen and Kevin, their eyes all trained on the arriving crowd for a tell-tale messenger uniform._

_“They are probably cousins.” he replies, careful to keep his voice nonchalant. “And trust me, news travels fast between mothers and cousins. Once, I accidentally set a curtain aflame at worship whilst lighting the candles - and even before the end of the day, my cousin Kyle was already shouting it for the world to hear.”_

_Kenny’s laughter is much more gleeful than such a story warrants. But when he turns to throw a baleful look her way, her eyes are sparkling once more.  
_ _More birds approach, prompting her to reach deeper into her pockets. Kyle watches her and thinks of the stories with sorcerers who could transform into birds, soaring into the sky and claiming the loyalty of their feathered brethren. He watches her, and it’s all too easy imagining the shadows shifting into wings around her shoulders, sweeping feathers glossy and inky-black.  
_ _A sharp caw announces the arrival of yet more birds, prompting Kyle to scowl._

_“Seriously, stop it. You’ll spoil them, and they’ll start harassing everyone who steps in the gardens for food.”_

_“Someone’s jealouuuus.” Kenny coos. Tauntingly, she reaches to run a careful finger along the nearest crow’s head. “Don't worry though. I’m sure if you sit still enough, they’ll flock to you - after mistaking your hair for a wonderful nest.”_

- 

“You’ve been busy.”

Her barely-muffled amusement tugs him away from his memories. With a careful hand, the Queen reaches for the carnations that had bloomed around Kyle, the magic of his meditation springing them into existence. _There is a lot of them_ , he notes somewhat sheepishly. They sprawl across the grass like a luxurious carpet of reds and purples, scattering all the way to the distant trees. Their scent has already attracted insects, all fluttering wings and excited buzzing.   

A stray blonde lock brushes against the leaves as she leans closer, taking a cautious sniff. When her eyes remain dry and her breathing steady, she turns her gaze back on him, pointed and expectant.  
A look Kyle is all too familiar with.  
Lip twitching, he scoots closer, reaching for the nearest carnations. With a swipe of his hand, most leaves flutter to the ground as he plucks the flowers free. He twist the stalks together with quick, practised movements, bending them into the skeleton of a crown with ease.   

The first flowercrown he had ever tackled fought him at every step - stalks stubborn and slippery, petals annoyingly fragile. An hour and several attempts later, the result was lumpy and decidedly amateur-ish looking, clutched between bruised and slippery fingers.  
He still remembers how tempted he had been to give up, tired and unhappy with the sloppy results. But every time he flirted with the notion, the memory gripped him in its stubborn clutches.

 _“Of course it_ **_had_ ** _to be daisies.” Kenny sniffs, voice thick. She is already reaching to rub at her swollen eyes again, Kyle’s fingers catching her hand the very last second. “Why should I get to enjoy the one flower I’m allowed to pick?”_

_“Stop touching it!” he hisses, ignoring her mournful protests. Even as he wrestles her towards the healer’s office, his thoughts are already twisting into a plan.  
_

A touch of magic has the carnations at full bloom, carmine caressing lilac. Kyle adds a few smaller flowers for the sake of symmetry before lifting his arms. Wordlessly, Kenny dips her head, her diadem already tucked away in her lap.  
Her smile is a little different now, ten years later. There is less beaming, teeth-flashing grins, a distinctive lack of gasps she cannot quite swallow. The twinkle in her eyes, however - the gleam and quiet elation as he places the crown on top of her head -  
That is exactly the same.

“There’s an abundance of lovely ones.“ she murmurs. Carefully, she reaches to nudge the flowers in place. “Enough for a matching one, you know.”

An unexpected suggestion. Or a playful order, perhaps.  
With a hum, he reaches for another carnation, waiting until the curious ladybird finishes inspecting its petals before plucking it free.

“...Unusual to see you about, without your ladies in waiting or fawning guests. Are you avoiding them, by any chance?”

“Shockingly, I have a few unscheduled hours at my disposal today. Barring any _new_ world-threatening emergencies or Wendy’s messengers.” There’s a ruffle as she tugs at the long sleeves of her cloak, rolling them up neatly. “I do have a meeting scheduled with Professor Mephesto before dinner, though.”

Kyle’s fingers skitter to a halt, the half-formed crown almost slipping from his grasp. “...please tell me you’re joking.”

She blinks. “No.”

“Why, exactly - “ he begins, trying not to sound _too_ judgemental, “do you continue to entertain the ravings of a delusional madman?”

Judging by the arch of the Queen’s eyebrows, his attempts were only halfway successful. “Because when he is not fixated on the subject of asses, his theories and experiments are fascinating, and worth investing in.”

“His theories are about _teleportation_ , Kenny. About transporting _people_ between _Kingdoms,_ with the use of just _runes_ and - what, a dozen crystals bought in the corner shop?”

“Exactly! It would be amazing!”

“Magic doesn’t work like that!” Kyle huffs, unable to keep his exasperation at bay. “It’s not something that - there’s a _reason_ why teleporting _people_ and living things at such long distances hasn’t been done before.” He sees the familiar gleam in Kenny’s eyes and tosses a flower her way. “And _no,_ it’s not because of lack of ambition! Magic isn’t limited only by imagination!”

Dodging his half-hearted projectile, Kenny’s expression remains unconvinced. “Not _everything_ has been discovered. And frankly, it _should_ be. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Rolling his eyes, Kyle makes a show of picking up his half-finished crown, not deeming that worthy of a reply. It’s an old argument, one that hasn’t advanced in either direction since they were both fourteen, and it became clear that Kenny’s relationship with magic was a tentative and capricious one.  

- 

_“This isn’t going to work.”_

_Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Kyle nudges his hip sharply against Kenny’s, prompting a squawk of protest. “Not with that attitude.”_

_He gets a somewhat sour look in response, fingers twisting in her scarf before she tugs it down with a resigned sigh. Kyle tries not to take it personally, well-aware of just how many times she must have heard the same advice from their frustrated tutors, baffled at the princess’ inaptitude towards magic._

_Surprisingly, sorcery seemed to be the only thing Kenny could never quite best Kyle at. With anything else - be it academic or athletic - she could claw her way to his level or beyond, given enough time. But when it came to magic - even after years of rigorous  tutoring - Kenny remained clumsy and tentative, struggling with even the most basic spells.  
_ _After a particularly frustrating lesson, she had finally succumbed and asked Kyle for the help he’d been offering from the start. And so, here they were - huddled under the shade of an oak tree, burgeoning bushes shielding them from view.  
_ _(Kyle didn’t understand her trepidation, he really didn’t. She knew how easily this all came to him - he had been aiding the head gardener with the blossoming trees since he was six, after all. How hard could it be to teach a part-elf how to grow a simple flower?)_

_“Okay, so first - wait, what happened to your face?”_

_Kenny frowns, as if unaware of the white band-aid covering most of her left cheek. “...I cut myself shaving.”_

_“...you - ”_

_“Some girls shave too, Kyle. Don’t be rude.” she sniffs, tone clipped. With a firm shrug, she flips her braid over her shoulder. “So let me guess - you’re going to tell me to relax and clear my mind first?”_

_“...pretty much, yeah.” Tugging his sleeves back, Kyle crouches down. As Kenny slowly follows his lead, he digs his fingers into the soil. “I’m going to grow a sapling, and all you need to do is make it a little taller. Easy.”_

_Teeth snagging her lower lip, she nods warily. “...sure._ **_So_ ** _easy.”_

_“Hey, you made the leaves on those pea plants wiggle last week.”_

_“Yes - right before they crumpled and_ **_died._ ** _”_

_“It’s a start. Now, take a deep breath - “_

_At his coaxing and not-so-subtle nudges, Kenny slowly unfurls her spine, fingers hovering above the sapling. As they go through the steps, the air above her skin ripples with faint, barely-visible sparks. The tiny green shoot quivers -  
_ _And with a terrible stench, crumples into a morose, ashen heap._

_Kyle can only stare, jaw slack. “...huh.”_

_Shoulders slumping, Kenny tips backwards until she is sprawled over the grass, hands pressed across her face._

_“...I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.” she mumbles against her fingers, exhaustion dripping from every word. “This is supposed to be the_ **_easy_ ** _bit. Everyone says that even part-elves have a ‘natural aptitude’ for this shit.”_

 _Quickly pressing a handful of earth over their sad attempt, Kyle shifts until he’s kneeling beside her head. “...sure. But they also say that all elves are masters of singing from birth, and we both know how full of shit_ **_that_ ** _is.”_

_A snort escapes her. Slowly, she spreads her fingers wide enough to allow a peek through. Kyle does his best to smile._

_“So plant magic and energy manipulation is not really your thing. Maybe our tutors just need to try something else.”_

_“...your mother is not going to be happy with me.” Kenny murmurs. She casts a baleful look at her hands before moving to tuck them behind her head. “It’s not really a great look for a future Queen to reek of death and decay, is it?”_

_There’s a soft sort of sadness to her words, smile wry and defeated. It irks Kyle - deeply and uncomfortably so. He wants to shake her - to grab her by the shoulders and tell her it’s impossible for her future self to be anything other than great, magic be damned. He wants to - but even the thought of doing so sends a hot flush of embarrassment through him._

_“I mean - magic isn’t such an integral part of human culture, is it? Most rulers have a court magician to do that stuff for them.” he says instead. Idly, he twists his fingers into the grass, just inches away from Kenny’s hand. “I think as long as you can ride a horse, shoot arrows and drink a lot, they will be impressed.”_

_They share a look and a guilty little smile - for all the curfews broken, of the hasty sips of mead swallowed behind the watchful eyes of Kyle’s parents, of the smuggled bottle of spirits they shared and regretted the next day. Kenny shifts, the crown of her head pressing against Kyle’s knee just as his hand finds purchase in her hair._

_“And besides - let’s not pretend Ma wouldn’t kill to have powers of death and decay herself.”_

-

“...Kyle?”

“Ah - yes?”

“...do you think he is someone I should be concerned with?”

Caution envelopes Kenny’s words, fingers twisted together in an uneasy grip. An uncertainty has replaced the previous ease in her expression, and it prompts Kyle’s stomach to twist with guilt.  

“No - no, his current experiments and interests are questionable, but they are...harmless, I suppose.” he concedes. Carefully, he places the mostly-finished crown on the grass. “Just keep him away from your throne room, for peace of mind.”

A rather ill-tasting joke, considering the fragility of the peace between them. But Kenny’s lips only twitch in response, her hands snagging a handful of carnations to throw at his head.  
It’s an incredibly childish gesture, and he’s diving forwards without a second thought to reciprocate, her giggles filling him with glee. She might have great aim, but his arm was _faster_.  
It takes three dozen flower bombs and a rather undignified loss of balance for their tussle to reach a conclusion, their bodies still wrecked with sniggers once the loser conceded defeat.

Had he he not been so distracted, he probably would have noticed sooner.  
He would have probably noticed the eerie silence.  

The wind sweeps through the gardens as he sits up, suddenly icy cold. The fluttering of their clothes and the rustle of the grass is the only noise to break the quiet. There’s no buzzing insects, no bird song - no muffled laughter or shouts from the guests in the distance.  
Kenny notices seconds after him - or perhaps, she picks up on the sudden tenseness of his shoulders, the clenching of his fingers.

“...is Stan lurking somewhere?” she asks, tone carefully casual.

“No - I sent him to join the festivities.” Kyle replies. Slowly, he makes a move to get to his feet.

The seconds of the next minute tick by painfully slow, tension gripping his bones tight. His eyes scan across the garden rapidly, searching for a clue to the sudden shift in the air - a figure, a sign, a detail out of place -

And then, as if to mock him, the ear-shattering screech of that damned wayward peacock cuts through the air - as if to reprimand them for forgetting his presence.  
With a wince, Kyle presses a hand to his ear, turning towards Kenny. “Could I really not convince you to just - “

With a barely-audible whistle, an arrow snaps into his arm and red explodes across his vision.

He might have cried out - a curse, an exclamation, a warning. He thinks he hears Kenny shout his name, a flutter of black and blonde as she whirls around, barely dodging the second arrow meant for her.  
Fingers gripping the arrow, he yanks it free just as twin shadows leap towards him, black hoods obscuring their faces from view. Even as his fingers clench to summon a protective barrier, he knows it’s in vain - too close, too fast, too _late_ \- the light glinting off the silver edges of their weapons. All he can do is throw his arms up to shield his face, fingertips blistering with the heat of a hasty spell -

**_“NO!”_ **

The ground shakes beneath their feet, forcing the assailants’ steps to stutter. Kyle barely has time to draw a sharp breath before inky tendrils of smoke sweep through the garden, plunging him into darkness. What feels like a dozen arms wrap around his shoulders and torso, yanking him back and off-balance. They catch him before he can hit the ground, cocooning him aggressively in their grasp.  
His vision clears a few seconds later, the invisible hands easing their grip and allowing him to move. Towering over him, hands extended and eyes ablaze, stands Kenny.

Her hair whips around her face, torn free from the coils. She pays it no mind, gaze fixed on the spot where the assassins stood mere seconds ago. A muffled cry drifts across the mist and her scowl deepens, eyes flashing too-blue as her fingers clench into fists. Kyle can only stare as the darkness swirls around her in response, rooted in place by leaded limbs and a throbbing wound.

And yet -  
Even with the screaming of the would-be-assassins piercing through his ears and the sting in his arm, warm blood seeping through his shirt -  
There is only one thought in his mind, spreading with unflinching clarity.

That he’s seen this all before.

 _Black tendrils of smoke sweep across the clearing, plunging them into darkness. As he stumbles, a dozen invisible hands catch him, embracing him with aggressive insistence.  
__It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear. Heart still racing and breath still choppy, Kyle cranes his neck - trying to spot the bandits that had ambushed them, or his fallen weapon, or_ **_Kenny_ ** _-  
__He doesn’t have to look far. Towering over him - hands extended and furious, furious,_ **_furious_ ** _\- stands Kenny._

 _Kyle had never seen Kenny truly angry before. Even when facing tired prejudices or scathing critique, she mostly remained silent - thoughts only betrayed by a clench of a jaw or a flash of an eye. Sometimes, he wondered just what would it take to break Kenny’s composure - to lay her fury bare._ _The most obvious answer seemed to revolve around Karen and Kevin - the safety and well-being of her precious siblings.  
_ _But this...nothing like this ever crossed his mind._

 _He thinks he hears a scream - thinks he sees the darkness around them swirl into sharp shapes, as if it had a will of its own -  
_ _And then, it’s suddenly all over. The clearing is empty once more, the sudden rush of light making him squint. Two bodies lie only a few feet away, frozen and trembling. Kenny is grabbing at his arms, shaking him with growing distress._

_“ -le! Kyle, are you okay?!”_

_Her eyes are wide and unnaturally blue, pupils shrinking into cat-like slits. Her hair stands in disarray, blonde strands striking against the ashen tones of her skin.  
_ _Ashen skin, demonic eyes. Unveiled, unhidden by the magic Queen Sheila had cast on her the very first day to hide her true visage._

_Kyle realises he should reply when she starts to pull away, concern crumbling to give way to belated shame. Her hands are already covering her face when Kyle snags her wrist._

_“That,” he breathes, “was_ **_so cool!_ ** _”_

_She freezes. Her jaw falls slack as her uncertainty clashes with disbelief, tips of her sharp little tusks on show._

_“...what?”_

_“So fucking cool!” he repeats, hands moving to grab at her arms. “Way better than growing pea plants on command!”  
_

_There are shouts in the distance, thundering footsteps that get closer with every second. And yet, all the young prince can see is the flush that spreads across Kenny’s face, staring at Kyle like he might disappear any second._

In retrospect, that was probably the first time he fell in love.

Eyes fixed on her furious face - lungs full with the cold smell of darkness and decay, body shielded by her own -  
Kyle realises that he never quite stopped.

 

 

 

AN:

My apologies for such an extended update - life has not been kind to my writing schedule. I hope you all enjoy the uh...extensive wordcount, though?

With the flowers (I really like them, can you tell?), carnations represent love and fascination. Purple carnations in particular are for unpredictability and capriciousness, whilst deep reds represent passion and affection. [(source)](https://www.flyingflowers.co.uk/page/hidden-meaning-of-flowers/)

As always, thank you so much for the kind words and the kudos for the last chapter - I appreciate them more than I can say. <3  
Also, I would like to mention that if you came into this fic expecting poignant political drama and serious plot resolutions, then I am afraid this is really not that fic. I will write that one day - but not today. Just a disclaimer, as we get closer to the end.

 **Fantasy Fic Rec:** [Where Frozen Flowers Bloom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253929/chapters/35381358) by [Rumoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumoris/pseuds/Rumoris)

Something a little different this time! This is not a SOT-verse fantasy fic, but one set in the world of Etrian Odyssey, following the misadventures of a treasure hunting guild whose gunner and ranger are in the middle of a disagreement. Spurred on by Cartman's sly encouragement and a map, Kyle ventures deep into a labyrinth on his own with a specific goal - and person - in mind. ~~You won't believe what happens next!~~  
Despite never having played the games, the setting and the story drew me right in - gorgeous and intricately described. Tallemy has such a talent for combining worldbuilding and action, spiced with just enough feelings to get you grinning (or worried or exasperated for these orange idiots). The gameplay aspects are also incorporated really well into the story, detailed enough for any beginners to get easily on board. The humour and the characterisations are wonderful (shout-out to Craig's gang), and I love how well-thought out each character making an appearance is in terms of how they fit into the world.   
They are also a super talented artist, and [you should definitely check their work out here!](http://tallemy.tumblr.com/tagged/own-art)

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Any thoughts are super appreciated <3 If you're on Tumblr, [hit me up!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/)  


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